The Light and the Glass
by Total-Khufu
Summary: After a failed attempt at living away from her family, Matilda Cardinal crawls back home. Now that she's back where she belongs, Mattie begins the constant struggle to reconnect with the only world she's ever known, and the only man she ever loved.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I got an idea, and I just ran with it. I know the concept is a little overdone, there are a lot of 'girl leaves, girl comes back' stories on FF, but I couldn't help myself. Hopefully this will turn out a little different. I might eventually play a little bit with the timing- but I promise, it won't seem outrageous. _The Light and the Glass_ begins a couple weeks before the timeline of the first season, and this first chapter is the prologue, mostly setting up the circumstances that lead Mattie back to Charming. This is my first SoA fic, so please review and let me know what you think!**

**PS- I don't own any of the SoA universe, just Mattie. **

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><p><em>Don't get any big ideas<em>

_They're not gonna happen_

_You paint yourself white_

_And fill up with noise_

_But there'll be something missing_

_Now that you've found it, it's gone_

_Now that you feel it, you don't_

_You've gone off the rails_

_So don't get any big ideas_

_They're not gonna happen_

_You'll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking_

_Radiohead – Nude_

The reflection in the mirror wasn't anybody that Matilda recognized. A pale face swathed in expensive foundation, mouth swiped with peach lipstick, cheeks defined by a tiny twinge of bronzer. Cosmetic perfection. But one look at those exhausted hazel eyes shattered that assumption. The woman staring back at her was attractive, maybe, but she wasn't real. None of it was real. The pin straight hair pushed behind ears glittering with emerald studs was still her natural color, but the texture was wrong. Mattie missed her curls. Not as much as she missed everything else, but it was easier for her to focus on the superficial. Anything more meaningful and she'd just… dissolve.

Her outside was so much nicer than the inside. New York hadn't changed how she felt about the world, it didn't sway her alliances or her beliefs, but it had made Mattie so hollow that she wasn't sure how she made it out of bed every morning. The streets outside were a vast rushing sea of emptiness, all those people and those cars going somewhere. All she could do was watch. She had no place to go, nobody to see. Six years in that fucking place and she still had nothing. Well, maybe not _nothing_; she had an apartment full of furniture and a closet jam packed with outfits that she never wore anymore and kitchen with a pantry full of foods that she couldn't bring herself to eat. Mattie was alone, but she almost liked it better that way. It was easier than lying and smiling and pretending that it was all okay. Mattie had never felt like a whole person in New York.

Sometimes, on days that weren't quite as bright and sunny as the one which loomed outside her bathroom window, she tried to convince herself that _this_ was all she ever wanted. Her dreams had led her to this apartment, to this man, to this job. In California, they all told her that she was meant for greatness. A long time ago, Mattie thought that she would find it in the City- although she could not remember when it became so normal to refer to this place in such grand terms. Patrick brought her there after she graduated college, swinging her gracefully across the country into a city that gasped with the air of millions of pretty, shiny people. Potential glistened everywhere, and Mattie threw herself into the fray with little regard for her own sanity.

Now she was twenty-seven and was so disillusioned with the little façade she'd eagerly built six years ago that she could barely breathe. Charming had not always been good to her, she knew that all too well, but it had never ever made Mattie feel like such a mutant. Her head was in New York, but fuck, her heart was always back there. It had been simple to disguise the feeling of displacement, to hide it as well as she hid all those other difficult emotions, but now she couldn't do it anymore. To think that her psychiatrist fiancé couldn't see Mattie's soul-crushing depression was baffling. Or it just meant that she was very good at protecting herself from prying eyes.

The idea of leaving New York was always far-fetched, especially after she finished up at Columbia Law and passed the bar exam. With Patrick's connections it had been easy enough to secure a spot at a distinguished practice. Family law, divorces, that was what they specialized in, mostly for the rich and brainless. Once upon a time, Mattie dreamed of criminal law, of courtrooms and objections and closing arguments, but somehow Patrick had convinced her that it was a bad idea. Matilda, in his humble opinion, had a very hard time discerning the difference between right and wrong. Maybe she just didn't think about it within the stark limitations he gave those two terms. In her mind, there was a whole shitload of grey in between.

Patrick didn't understand her, not at all. He didn't see why she was unhappy and he certainly didn't try to understand. There was nothing sinister about New York; there was nothing inherently wrong with the place he'd adopted as his own. He had no idea what she went through every single day. To him, New York City meant freedom. He saved her from Charming; from the world that he believed would eventually kill Mattie. Patrick thought of himself as a hero, of Mattie perpetually as a damsel in distress. She wasn't. Mattie could take care of herself, she was composed and intelligent, but it all just disappeared the moment she set foot in the City. Matilda Cardinal was not herself anymore.

That well-paying job suffocated her, that doting fiancé infuriated her to no end, and there was nothing that Mattie could do about any of it. Except whine. She'd gotten pretty good at that, right? She'd stand in her bathroom and hide for hours at a time, wishing that she could do _something_. Take some pills, slit her wrists, press the barrel of a gun against her skull- if Mattie were more courageous, she'd do it. She needed to remove herself from the world. Then it wouldn't be anybody else's fault, just hers.

Would _he_ be sad to hear of her death? And if he were, would that really make it worth it? Mattie shuddered. In the rare moments when she left herself vulnerable, his name hurt so fucking badly. She swallowed hard, losing her resolve to leave the apartment. No, she needed to be here when all the images and all the feelings ran rampart across her skin, when her hollow soul was filled with self-loathing. Mattie was so damned weak. But only when she was alone. If Patrick walked in the front door, she could swallow those emotions in a heartbeat. His ex-wife considered Mattie frigid- a sentiment that, at times, was not exactly wrong. The only people that would argue against her views were a whole coast away.

How anybody could love this flinty façade, Mattie didn't know. It was a miracle that Patrick still wanted to marry her, especially when she'd been dragging her feet for the better part of three years. She didn't want a giant wedding with more colleagues than family, didn't want the designer dress or the elaborate reception. Exactly the opposite of Patrick. Mattie lied, said she wanted to wait until their age difference wasn't so apparent, but even she was having a hard time believing that one. Patrick was rapidly approaching his fifties, which she didn't mind, really. He was still attractive, with that little bit of grey encroaching his blonde. But she would always be twenty-one years his junior, no matter how long she avoided the issue. That difference had never really been the problem.

Plus, they'd technically been married since the moment they'd arrived in New York City. It sure was easy to go down to city hall and sign a couple pieces of paper, so that Patrick could add Mattie to his health insurance. Mattie had been Mrs. Muldoon since her twenty-second birthday, but it wasn't an anniversary that Patrick regarded officially. It made things easier, in general, but he thought that Mattie wanted more than a certificate of marriage. She didn't.

Opie and Donna's wedding, now that was Mattie's ideal. Small, held in the last glowing embers of dusk one summer evening, it was all so _perfect_. She told Patrick about it once, how the ceremony was beautiful and the love between the pair was so damned palpable, and he'd just smiled and said that it sounded nice. Nice? He didn't understand how everyone was family, blood or not, how they all just laughed and smiled and celebrated Donna and Opie. And Donna was Mattie's best friend. Or she had been, before Mattie ran away. Before a lot of things.

It would be hard to leave New York, not because she was attached to it, but because there were a lot of loose ends to tie. Leave her job, divorce Patrick, find some place to live, and Mattie honestly wasn't sure if that was less overwhelming than just staying put. And where would she go? Ha, she knew the answer to that one before she even asked it of herself. Charming. All roads pointed back to California. There were excuses that she could make, how her mother and brother were still there, but Mattie didn't feel like lying anymore. Frankly, it was getting difficult to determine when her few truths blossomed into deceit. She wanted to see Tig again. There, that wasn't so hard.

He probably didn't even register her absence. The concept stung, but Mattie was used to it. Tig had never been one for fidelity, and she was only seventeen when she first fell for him. A child. A stupid naïve child who thought that big bad Tig would love her as fiercely as she loved him. Her first love. Fucking fuck, Mattie thought, feeling the sobs hit her so squarely in the chest that she sunk into the tiled floor, letting the cold marble absorb her sadness. She hadn't always been like this, she was sure of it. Mattie had gotten over Tig once, and for the life of her, couldn't figure out where the oozing wounds had come from. She wasn't living because she couldn't exist without him. That was what happened when seventeen-year-olds fell in love. But Mattie was twenty-fucking-seven with only a few months to go before her next birthday. Grown women did not obsess over past lovers like she did. It was not normal.

Maybe it was. She didn't have any damned clue what _normal_ felt like anyway.

Mattie had nobody to talk to. Her mom didn't understand her discomfort in New York, and if she didn't get that, there was a snowball's chance in hell that she would know what to say about Mattie's unresolved feelings. Donna was busy with the kids, and Opie had just gotten out of jail, so Mattie didn't want to bother her. And Tig? Well, Mattie would be lying if she said she didn't want to hear his voice, but there was no way that he was going to listen to her shit. Mattie needed out of her own head. That would make life easier.

Now, was life better or worse before Tig decided to pay her a visit three months ago? He was only in New York for a few days, but he had found her and looked at her with those fucking blue eyes and she just… collapsed. Mattie thought her world was whole before Tig was present within it, a notion that was dismantled so easily that she didn't even realize he'd done it to begin with. There was club business in the City, something with the Irish that he didn't elaborate upon because she was no longer in the loop, but he wanted to see her. What did that mean? Nothing probably, because Tig was not one for head games, he was straightforward. Not like Mattie.

And then she took him home and they made love and Christ, it had all been so right. No man had ever filled her in that way that Tig could, how he always seemed to enter her and surround her with his whole body at the same time. He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her so tightly, holding Mattie against him as he thrust between her legs. And she still remembered all the ways to made him gasp her name into the air, how to roll her hips against his and scrape her teeth against his shoulders. An afternoon of sex, waxing and waning between sheer friskiness and unbridled need for each other. God, it was so good. Exactly what she needed. Tig finally gave her the freedom that she sought from the moment she moved to New York. And then he had to say it.

_Baby, come home. I need you._

Tig had fucked her in more ways than one. It wasn't fair. Had Mattie said something similar, he would've scoffed and reminded her that he didn't do old ladies. Christ, he put his dick in anything remotely pussy-shaped. Mattie was just convenient. Not special. She never was, not to him, not to Patrick, nobody. Even at seventeen, she'd known that Tig would never pay her any attention. Although, she had to give credit where it was due, he did wait until she was eighteen to fuck her. Good for him, she thought, picking herself off the bathroom floor. The world wasn't going to wait for her. Mattie needed to make a decision.

Stay and rot, or go back to Charming and get rejected. Not just by Tig, but by the club. They probably thought her some sort of traitor, leaving SAMCRO without warning like she had. Mattie was ingrained in that universe since she was a child, and she shed it like a second skin, running away from the only people who would ever love her unconditionally. She'd be lucky to see the inside of the clubhouse ever again, where she'd once spent so much time. Mattie started out playing with Jackson and Opie, and eventually somehow ended up with her spine pressed against Tig's mattress. A pretty big leap, something at which Mattie was an expert.

Thinking about changing back into pajamas and sulking in bed, Mattie crossed the apartment, leaving her comfortable bedroom in favor of the laptop still sitting on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. It was her favorite link to the outside world, which she knew wasn't exactly healthy, but it served her well. No new e-mails, her clients were all pacified and Patrick was with his patients. He didn't know that Mattie had cheated on him, and he especially didn't know that it had been with Tig, although Pat only knew him as her ex. She had been spectacularly tight lipped about Charming, which her fiancé found frustrating.

Gemma had taught Mattie to distrust outsiders before she learned her multiplication tables. And she wouldn't lie, it served her pretty well.

The real estate websites appeared on the computer screen before Mattie registered them. And how Charming's zip code got typed in the search, well, she couldn't explain that either.

Finding a house was not the same as actually leaving, Matt reminded herself, clicking through a few listings. This was just a fantasy, an escape from a spoiled life that she had no real excuse to hate. But as the perfect little bungalow loaded, there didn't seem to be any reason not to call the realtor. Plus, she had the money saved up- part of being a much younger woman in a relationship meant that she got a pretty decent allowance every week, which, combined with what she earned at the firm had left a decent amount of zeroes in her bank account- enough to put an offer in. Once that was done, it didn't seem so hard to look for moving companies, you know, just in case that her bid got accepted. Which it wouldn't, Mattie was sure, even as she thought about how long it would take to pack her things. A couple weeks, maybe, if she went slowly.

Fuck, if she could box up all her things, Mattie could certainly leave Patrick. Actually, it surprised her how little guilt she felt about the whole thing. When she told him, he didn't even argue, just questioned her motives. Why did she need to leave? Where was she going? Why would she go back to _that place_? And when he asked if it was because she knew that he was having an affair- with a patient, no less- Mattie just smiled. New York would be a memory soon enough.

It was another three weeks before she was back in Charming. Just before her twenty-eighth birthday, Matilda Cardinal was finally back where she belonged.

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><p>She swiped the back of her hand against her forehead, wiping off the sheen of sweat that had collected there. Her new home wasn't big, smaller than the apartment in the City actually, but there seemed to be so many things that she needed to do before she could get comfortable. There were walls to paint, shelves to build, rugs to position, and fuck, if she could only think about how all those boxes in the basement were going t to get unpacked. An infinite task sat in front of Mattie, and less than half of her shit had arrived. Why had she decided to do everything by herself?<p>

Oh yeah, because she wasn't quite ready to reveal her presence to Charming just yet. Her fucking mother- although Reese Cardinal hadn't really ever deserved the title- didn't even know her daughter was back. Although, if Matt wanted to be honest, it would probably be a while before Reese found out. Gemma was the person that she needed to talk to, despite the fact that Matt had no idea how to approach her after all the time that passed. She'd missed a lot, and didn't particularly think that she deserved to be forgiven. Mattie knew what it felt like when family skipped out on you. Gemma had taken over the maternal role once Reese ran off, but she pretty much had the reins since Mattie's birth. Then Mattie had to completely shit on their bond by pulling the same stunt as her mother, just fourteen years later.

And Tig? Christ, she had no idea how to deal with him, even though her feelings had toned down since she arrived back in town. Matt had done what he asked; she'd left New York, but didn't know how to explain the decision. She was bored? Lonely? His words had affected her so wholly that she didn't know what to do with herself? Fuck. And it didn't help that Tigger always saw through whatever defense she placed between the two of them. He knew her better than she would like to admit. He interpreted her guarded nature as shyness. Tig wasn't wrong, but she didn't like any of her weak points exposed. It was her plan to avoid him as long as possible because she had the terrible habit of saying whatever was on her mind when he was around, something that she could not handle just yet.

Mattie had no idea how to restart her life, how to approach the only family she'd ever known, but for right now she was going to focus on unpacking. The upstairs bedrooms still needed another coat of paint, so she was confined to sleeping in the living room for the time being. Which would've been a lot more appealing if the new furniture had gotten delivered. A pillow and a couple of comforters were not Mattie's idea of a comfortable mattress, but she wasn't going to complain. Gemma taught Matt that more she asked for, the less she'd get, and New York had proved her right.

After she shattered a glass platter on the kitchen floor, Mattie gave up. Every box she opened either belonged in the bedroom or on a bookshelf that hadn't arrived yet. Frustrated with her lack of organization, Matt headed out the garage, where she'd put the broom and dustpan. She hadn't even spent a whole day in her new house and she'd already ruined something. This place was supposed to be perfect, setting things up was supposed to be therapeutic. Mattie had no say over the décor in the apartment, everything was set out exactly how Patrick's interior decorator said it should be, because as Patrick frequently reminded her, there was a certain way to do things in New York society. His fiancé was not even cultured enough to arrange her own closet.

And now, when she finally had the power to make the decisions, Matt couldn't get through more than a dozen boxes without feeling like a moron. Which if Patrick was to be believed, she was. How many times had he questioned her judgment? She didn't know enough about the world to take the subway to school, and he made her take a car service. You know how to alienate a law student? Give her access to a chauffer and a Lincoln Town Car. Or it was the fact that Mattie couldn't make dinner for his kids, because she didn't know about their special needs. And she certainly couldn't discipline them, either. Matilda Cardinal was less independent woman and more Eliza Doolittle to his Henry Higgins. An experiment, not a relationship. Although she didn't know what she expected from somebody that married her in order to add her to his health insurance. Now, that was a bond. Tig had saved her ass more times than she count, but that paled in comparison to all that Patrick did. In her ex-husband's opinion, anyway.

That was a very weird thing to consider. Mattie wasn't even twenty-eight and she was getting divorced. She hadn't really been _married_, per se, but it didn't make her any less of a failure. If she did want to get down to brass tacks, it had been harder to leave her job than it had been to leave Patrick. Maybe that made her a terrible person. No, not maybe, probably. Matilda was a shitty person, and she fucking hoped that she could get back to where she'd been such a long time ago.

The garage was really the only area of the house that didn't look like war zone, housing a few cleaning supplies and her car. The Mercedes had been completely useless in New York, but it was the first thing that she shipped to California. Mattie had no idea what made the automobile so special- she still missed the little Honda she drove in high school- but Patrick upgraded hers every couple years. Because spending an exorbitant amount of money on something that was hardly ever used was how he showed his love. She hated the shiny hunk of metal, the black paint reflecting Mattie's undone image right back at her. Curls askew, pants all wrinkled from being buried at the bottom of her carry-on, shirt speckled with sweat stains. Matilda Cardinal was a sight to see, and not a good one at that. If Patrick had seen this girl, he might not have been so eager to bring her to New York in the first place.

Seeing the baseball bat resting against a set of shelving that the previous owners hadn't bothered to take with them, she knew that she was going to do something stupid. It was an easy out, an entirely simple way to take out her aggression. Matt had left New York with nothing but a few well-placed words to Patrick, a couple discussions with the firm, a meeting with her financial advisor. It was quiet. Entirely the opposite of what she wanted. Patrick was supposed to _fight_ her, he supposed to scream and tell Matt that he needed her and that she couldn't leave him, but he just accepted her decision without so much as a raised voice. No. She wanted to have it out with him, but he was so damned pacified throughout the whole thing that Matt wasn't sure whether it made him a saint or an asshole. Fuck, he didn't even argue about dividing their belongings or whether she was entitled to any alimony, Patrick told her explicitly that Matilda- he never, under any circumstances, called her Mattie- could have whatever she wanted. Was he heartbroken? Relieved? Christ, she just didn't know. All that mattered was all the fury that had built up, all the anger towards Patrick that Mattie could never resolve. And as the bat sank into the hood of the Benz, her chest loosened just a bit.

She swung into the headlights, busted through the tinted windows, ripped out her GPS system, before hearing her shrieks. Mattie's voice bit loudly into the air, mixing into the tears that she'd never shed. New York had been a shoddy solution for a lot of things, but it never erased her emotions in the way that she needed. Mattie had been a zombie on the east coast, so insanely numb to what went on her heart. This was better. Misery was not something that Matt could not stand any longer.

Plus, now that her car was pretty well fucked, there was only one place she could take it. Teller-Morrow was the best garage in the county. Yeah, she'd have to explain the scatterbrained damage that Mercedes suffered, but one more lie wouldn't kill Mattie.

Although, if she saw Tig tomorrow, that just might.

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><p><strong>AN: I just wanted to add that while Mattie was young when she first fell for Tig- I'm trying to make the back story as natural and un-creepy as possible. Also, it's not going to be the main focus, I promise.**

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading and please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I don't think I mentioned it in the last chapter, but the POV isn't always going to be Mattie's. You never know who might pop up.**

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><p><em>I've journeyed here and there and back again<em>

_But in the same old haunts I still find my friends_

_Mysteries not ready to reveal_

_Sympathies I'm ready to return_

_I'll make the effort, love can last forever_

_Graceful swans of never topple to the earth_

_Tomorrow's just an excuse_

_And you can make it last, forever you_

_You can make it last, forever you_

_Thirty-Three – Smashing Pumpkins_

Deciding on what to wear- or rather, what to disguise herself in- had been more difficult than Mattie anticipated. She could go casual, t-shirt and jeans, or formal, one of those shift dresses under a blazer, like she used to wear to work. It was a losing battle, considering Mattie already looked completely out of place, no matter what she wore. Her priorities had been much different when she shopped in New York. And she didn't have a lot of options either, with most of her wardrobe still boxed in the basement. At last, a sheer cream-colored blouse with a pair of black skinny jeans and green suede flats were what Matt finally decided upon. Coupled with the oversized designer shades she threw on at the last second, Mattie knew that she was practically unrecognizable if she lost her resolve at the last second.

Believe it or not, Matilda Cardinal had been brave once, although she had little idea where the courage had gone.

Her neighbor shot her a strange look when Matt pulled out of the driveway, probably because the Mercedes had been whole when it arrived a few days ago. Waving to the older woman, she headed in the direction of Teller-Morrow. She might not have set foot in the town of Charming for the past six years, but she knew exactly where she was going.

Although, it would've been better if she hadn't gotten pulled over fifteen minutes after leaving. Mattie knew that she was out of practice, driving wise, but she was pretty sure that she still had it down pat. Her dad had taught her well. Maybe it was the New York plates. Reaching towards the glove box to pull out the registration, Mattie sighed. She'd never make it to TM before closing time. It had been a dumb decision to go so late, especially on a Friday. But she hadn't been able to get up enough nerve until 4:30, when the back of her brain started to thud with the thought of _now or never_. Despite the fact that Mattie would've been perfectly happy waiting forever- her resolve was practically gone by the time the cop put on his lights anyway- she knew that sooner or later, somebody was going to find out she was back in town.

Plus, there was only one person Mattie really wanted to avoid. And there was no guarantee that he'd even be on the TM lot, so that little bit of hope was propelling her forward.

"Ma'am, you are aware that you have no taillights, yes?" The cop by her window paused. "Or windshield. And I'm going to guess that those headlights aren't working either." Yeah, she should've gotten it towed.

Mattie opened her mouth to respond, but caught the name on his uniform first. Hale. _Shit_. She'd lived next door to the Hales until she left for college. Hell, she and David were even sort of friends back in the day. That was wrong- they _were_ friends- and that friendship had only gotten more tenuous as they aged. It wasn't his fault and it wasn't hers, but blame had certainly been placed on both sides. But still. It should've been easy to recognize him, with that distinct square jaw and those all-American features. He even styled his chestnut hair the same way. She guessed that some people never changed.

"Can I see your license and registration, ma'am?" Nope, he didn't recognize Matt. Good sign.

"Sure." She replied, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. Matt had the forethought to grab her registration, but forgot to rummage through her wallet. "The car is registered in my husband's name."

"You mind if I ask what happened?" That was cop-speak for 'what kind of illegal activities led to the state of this vehicle?'

"Got vandalized while I picked up a few things in Galt." It was a lie that needed to be supported with more lies, but it was the only thing Matt could think of that didn't make her sound like a complete nut job.

Hale nodded, an air of doubt flickering through those jarring ice blue eyes, looking over her registration. If she could only find her fucking license, maybe then she could make to Teller-Morrow before the sun set. The only problem- her license still had her last name. She'd never actually gotten around to changing it to Muldoon. Hopefully this trip wouldn't end with her ass getting brought back to the station.

"Any luck, Mrs. Muldoon?" He assumed, and Matt fumbled to correct him. Maybe if David Hale didn't recognize her- and he was somebody that she'd seen nearly every day of her life until she was eighteen- it bode well.

"Ah, here you go, officer." She couldn't keep the smirk out her voice.

"Okay, I'm going to go run your information. You mind staying put," His eyes drifted over her ID. "Matilda?"

Realization replaced the suspicion in her face, and she got immediately nervous. What would he say? How was she going to explain her reappearance? "Guilty."

"Jeez, it's been how long? I thought you were one of the lucky few that got out of Charming." He meant more than what he said, but she didn't answer the question that lay just beneath his seemingly genial statement.

"Yeah, I've been gone a little while." Mattie offered, shrugging. "Home is where the heart is, you know, all that bullshit. Came back to see everyone."

David smiled broadly before softly murmuring, "It's been a real long time since we talked. I mean, you didn't even tell me that you were leaving. Didn't expect that."

He wanted to say more; she could still recognize the anxious way that his hands skittered over one another, as though the action would contain his thoughts. They'd had some spectacular arguments before she went to Berkeley, and especially on the weekends that Mattie came back to Charming. He was a Hale, and she was the daughter of a Son, even if her dad had passed. David understood her loyalty, but had never failed to question it.

"Sure has. And we both know that this isn't the proper place to discuss any of this."

He handed back her information. "Maybe, Matt. But I learned a long time ago that there isn't a 'proper' place for you and I. Not in Charming, at least."

Mattie frowned, trying not to get caught his gaze. He always had a way of making her talk, even when she didn't want to. Did she really owe him an explanation? "I've got to get going, David."

"Where you headed?" He only asked because he already knew the answer.

"Somebody's got to fix this hunk of junk," She replied as genially as she could manage, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

"How long are you staying? Do you have time to catch dinner with your old neighbor?"

"I don't know, Hale."

"Hale?" His features registered disappointment, although very faintly. "I see."

He started to step away from her car, and Mattie felt a little guilty. The sentiment surprised her; after all, she hadn't felt shit when she left Patrick, or even when she cheated on him. Maybe Charming was already having an effect on the numbness that seized her since she arrived in New York. And David had been a good friend when she was younger, even if they had their disagreements. But then Mattie also knew how it would look to go out to dinner with a cop, and if she remembered David Hale right, he probably wasn't fond of the MC. He always had quite a view on right and wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, he did deserve some answers, just not on the side of the street. And definitely not in Charming proper.

"Hey, wait a sec." Mattie opened the door, stepping outside. "I can't make any promises, but I'll give you my number, okay?"

David looked her up and down, as if he were assessing her response by her appearance. Or maybe he simply remembered the girl that never left the house in anything more than a wife beater and jeans, and this incarnation surprised him. Mattie wasn't sure.

"Okay." He extended a pen, and she wrote her cell number across the back of an old matchbook. David smoked. How strange. He squinted at the New York area code and waved her back to her car. "Be careful, Mattie."

It was a warning. That much was clear as she watched him pull back onto the road, his vivid blues eyes catching Mattie's hazel pair as he slowly drove past.

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><p>It was almost closing time, Chibs thought, stretching as he eyed the clock. He didn't mind the mechanic work and sure, it kept the cops away most of the time, but he was itching for Friday night to begin. Friday nights at the clubhouse were some of his favorites, second to only patch-over parties. Both had copious amounts of pussy and whiskey, although there was usually a greater variety of both at patch-overs. Today, he didn't care. Chibs had needs, and there was a particular girl he had in mind. Blonde, big fake tits, tattoo of a bike right over her ass crack. Good with her mouth. Hopefully she'd be there tonight, and he'd be able to take care of a little stress. Or rather, Blondie would be able to take care of it with her lips on his dick.<p>

Lowell worked next to him, the younger man a little bit jumpy. Chibs didn't mind, the kid was pretty cool most of the time. Young son, absent ex-wife, and a drug addiction he didn't quite have under control. Either the vice would kill Lowell or make him stronger, something Chibs wasn't sure of just yet. He hoped to hell the kid would stay clean.

Lowell pointed towards the front gate. "They always come right before closing time."

A black Benz rolled through, the woman behind the wheel cruising slowly through the parking lot, like she was taking it all in. Teller-Morrow didn't see very many hoity-toity types like her; most of them wanting to take their precious cages back to the dealer for maintenance. But judging by the extensive damage, Little Miss Mercedes probably came to TM looking for discretion. She'd get it, sure, but it wasn't often that a vehicle came in missing its whole windshield. Or with a hood completely caved in. Jealous boyfriend, Chibs guessed. Girl probably didn't want to the damage to get reported to the cops.

"Don't ye know it." Chibs replied, walking over to her.

She lifted those expensive sunglasses, and he half expected to see a black eye- it fit with his theory- but her pale face was unmarred. And what a pretty face it was, Chibs thought. Full coral lips underneath a button nose with a band of freckles across it, her hazel eyes catching his without much fear. Most women were wary of a Son, especially one with as many scars as he, but she subtly tilted her head as she strode closer. The movement tossed her dark chocolate-colored curls, the sunshine catching a bit of copper in those spirals. It was such a fine sprinkling that he knew it was natural, just like those nice tits underneath her ruffled shirt. They wobbled in a very appealing way; her black bra exposed just a tiny bit by an undone button. She was shorter than he expected, but those black jeans still seemed to stretch for miles until they met tiny feet clad in funny green shoes. He could forgive the fashion choice, looking back up to her chest. Certainly.

Oh yes, the view made up for her cutting it so close to his personal time.

She seemed to understand that he was ogling her, her eyes sparkling just a little bit as she came upon him. Little Miss Mercedes wore a cluster silver bracelets on her left wrist, the sparkle of diamonds distracting him momentarily. A very posh girl, having enough jewelry to match the luxury of the car. It was a glaring reminder that she probably didn't belong at Teller-Morrow. But it didn't stop him from admiring that curvaceous body.

"What can I do for you, lovely?" He asked, smiling. Fuck the sweetbutts. This one even smelled classy, something floral mixing with the clean scent of laundry.

"Guess I need some work done." She responded, her voice clear, surprisingly mellow. Normally women spoke to a Son with a high-pitched edge in their voices.

"I don't think so, darlin'. Ye look pretty good to me. I like 'em natural."

No blush, no rebuke, just a raised eyebrow. What a strange one. "Thanks. I was talking about the Mercedes though. Thoughts on _that_ body?"

"Aw, I'm not such a good judge of automobiles. But my friend Lowell here will take a look. He'll get ye all set up. And I'll be waiting here in case ye have any questions that don't have ta do with the mechanics of your fancy German car."

Lowell shuffled out from behind Chibs, extending a greasy hand without thinking. Little Miss Mercedes would never touch something so unclean, if she was anything like the other yuppies that sometimes went to TM. But she offered her own palm, not even swiping it clean on her pants as they both wandered back towards her mess of a Benz. When Lowell offered her his rag, so she could wipe dirt away, she accepted. What a fucking weird chick.

Their retreat gave him an opportunity to check out her backside. Not too much of an ass, not like his Blondie, but enough to fill out the back of her jeans. All around, this girl was quite alluring, even if she had no idea what kind of a world she'd just walked into. The New York plates on her car affirmed his thoughts. Probably new to town, running away from a crazy ex. Which would mean she'd need somebody to cuddle with, keep her safe. And the only way she could repay his kindness would be with her clothes off. Chibs grinned, noting that it was late enough to clock out for the day. He was ready to get out of his greasy work clothes, so he could walk back on the lot and keep an eye on her.

Once he had his cut on, he'd have Little Miss Mercedes wrapped around his finger. Or his cock. He didn't care which. Well, he did, actually.

After cleaning up the last of his tools, Chibs went into the locker area, where Tig sat, lacing up his boots. It wasn't unlike the Sergeant-at-Arms to end the day a little bit earlier than everybody else. Tig nodded in greeting, smiling as Chibs opened his locker, searching for the shirt he'd been wearing earlier.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary." Tig commented.

"A nice piece of ass is out in the lot."

"Details, Brother, details. Croweater or civilian?"

"Oh, I don't think ye deserve ta know, skipping out on work early like ye did. If ye had only stuck around for a couple more minutes, she coulda been yours. Too bad that I'm going ta offer ta give her a ride home so that I can ride her."

"Maybe I'll sneak a peek."

"She's with Lowell. By the Benz."

Tig wrinkled his nose. "Benz? You can keep the yuppie. Your luck, she's an Oswald or a Hale."

"Small price ta pay for such exquisite tits." Chibs countered good-naturedly.

Tig left for the clubhouse, the door clicking shut behind him. Chibs finished changing, making sure that his hair wasn't too disheveled- Little Miss Mercedes probably had some standards- before heading back outside. The girl wasn't by the car anymore, but Lowell was. Probably in the office filling out some paperwork. Chibs would still have a chance to catch her on her way out, assuming that she didn't have anybody waiting for her. But considering that she had New York plates, she was probably new to town. Good for Chibs, bad for the rest of Charming's males.

"Tig thinks your girl is a figment of your imagination." Clay said with a smile. "Gotta say that I agree with him."

"She's probably in the office. You'll see, Clay. She's a looker."

"Sure she is, Chibs. I know your type; all fake tans and bleached hair. Last girl you had looked like an orangutan had a baby with a platinum blonde crank whore."

"So… Precious?"

Clay shook his head, a low rumble of laughter accompanying the movement. Chibs had only met Precious twice, and both times he couldn't see what Bobby had been attracted to in his ex-wife. The Scotsman liked intensity in a woman, but there was a fine line between that and crazy. And Precious most definitely fell into the latter category. But Chibs had to admit that last couple croweaters had been a little past their prime. A few minutes passed and Clay finally gave him one last pitying look.

"I think your girl skipped out on you."

Chibs groaned. "I'll check with Lowell. Guess it wasn't my night."

"Is it ever, Brother?"

Lowell looked up at him as he approached, his wide brown eyes glancing upwards. He overheard Chibs' conversation with Little Miss Mercedes; he probably knew what Chibs' intentions were. Judging by the red on his cheeks, Lowell had the right idea.

"Sorry, man. I didn't want Gemma to get mad at me for using overtime so I took down her info and offered to call her first thing Monday with an estimate."

"Where'd she go? Obviously the car is still here." He asked, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Bobby took her home."

"_Bobby_?"

Lowell gave him a strange look and nodded, "They left about ten minutes ago. I'm sure you can still catch up."

Little Miss Mercedes was definitely an odd bird if she wanted to go home with Bobby Elvis.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hopefully I got Chibs right. I've read fics where his accent is written in, where it isn't, and honestly, I don't know what's the right way. I started out by writing it normally, then halfway through I changed my mind and fixed it. Also- I researched a bunch and couldn't figure out exactly when Chibs came to SAMCRO, so he might've have been in the club for much longer than six years, I'm not completely sure. I just made a judgment call. Anyhow, thank you for reading and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So I was going to update this forever ago, but my internet crapped out and as soon as that was fixed, I got sick and didn't want to do anything except sleep. There's going to be one more chapter before Tig and Mattie have their little reunion, and then things will start rolling. Anyhow, thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews! Sometimes a little motivation is all I need!**

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><p><em>But the more that I love<em>

_The more I'll rise above_

_There must be something in me_

_That I'm trying to see_

_And you remind me_

_You remind me_

_Of how good I could be_

_And it's a strange kind of mirror_

_Strange Kind of Mirror – Birds & Batteries_

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><p>Mattie wasn't sure how she wanted things to go at Teller-Morrow, although she did not anticipate seeing either Lowell or Bobby. Lowell Harlan Jr. recognized her almost instantly, and she recognized the track marks just below the crook of his elbow. Just like his old man. She and Lowell had often played together as children, both their fathers working for the garage, even though hers had been a Son and his a deadbeat. When she shook his hand, he grinned, as though a secret had been passed between them. Maybe it was.<p>

It had been a stroke of luck that Bobby was in the office when Lowell brought her in to take down her information. Her uncle did just about a double take when Mattie walked through the door, lifting his reading glasses into his frizzy hair to make sure that he wasn't going crazy. He wasn't, and Mattie was surprised at how much he'd aged in the six years she'd been in New York. Bobby's face was more lined, belly a good deal wider, the grey she'd remembered at his temples nearly completely tangled through his mane. Mattie's curls were from his side of the family- Reese and Bobby were siblings- but she'd gotten her figure from her father's side. Luckily, Mattie judged with a smile as her uncle embraced her. He'd offered to give her a ride home, but she was aware that there would be some sort of long, emotional discussion afterwards.

She was right.

After fetching him a warm beer- the fridge, along with all her other appliances hadn't arrived yet- they sat at the kitchen table, his eyebrows drawn together as he figured out what to say. It was better that he took his time, since it gave Mattie a chance to consider whether or not she'd done the right thing by coming back to Charming and heading straight to Teller-Morrow. What if Gemma had been there? Or Jax and Opie? What would she have said to any of them? Christ, if it had been Tig that walked up to her in the parking lot… Mattie couldn't even think about what she'd have done.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mattie?" Bobby asked, "Actually, why the fuck are you doing what you're doing? That's a better question."

"I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do."

"Is this another impulse? Did you actually put some thought into this decision, or did you make your mind up in an afternoon and cruise into the sunset, like last time?"

"I don't know." She repeated, wanting to let her walls down. Instead she felt them fly into place, protecting her from all the questions.

"You gotta give me something, Matt. We're family, remember? You don't get to treat me like shit after the stunt you pulled. You owe me answers." Bobby took a long sip, watching her closely. She shied away from his gaze.

Mattie sighed. Bobby was the only member of her biological family that was truly concerned about her. Book, her father, and her uncle had been two peas in a pod, even if they were technically in-laws. Brothers twice, Book used to say, brothers by relation and brothers by the club. When her father passed, Bobby promised to take care of Mattie, but she never gave him the chance. It was easier for Mattie to isolate herself than to accept her own grief, or to succumb to anybody else's. She pretended that she was strong enough to run away, and it ruined her. It destroyed every relationship she'd built, which had not been her original intention. Plus, she hadn't exactly meant to stay away from Charming for six years either. It just happened. That was her problem- Mattie never had any control over the outside world and it freaked her the hell out. Worse, Matt barely had a handle on her own actions. She was composed of a strange mix of strategy and impulse, the child of her structured father and flaky mother.

"Come on, Uncle Bobby. You know how I am. Us Cardinals, we're proud people. We're not good at divulging our feelings."

"Maybe, but you're half Munson too, kid. We're loyal."

"You're trying to convince me that my mother- your sister- is _loyal_? She took George and left me and dad when I was seven years old. You think she gave us any warning?"

"Matt, you're not your ma. She doesn't think about how her actions affect other people. She has no concept of the future. I thought you were different. We all raised you to be different."

"I was twenty-one. I wasn't thinking about anybody else. I didn't know how to handle dad's death and I fucking flipped out. Getting away from Charming seemed like the best way to grieve." Mattie admitted, feeling a few things in her chest shift. It wasn't easy for her to do things that left her vulnerable, even giving up a few secrets to her uncle felt like some kind of self-betrayal.

"It really seemed like a good idea to leave the state with a man that you barely knew- a man that was twice your fuckin' age- in order to deal with your feelings? I know we've talked about this before, but you're smarter than that. Worse, it made the club look stupid. Who took care of you when your ma split? Huh? The MC takes care of its own. You included. Shit, Gemma was more of a mother to you than my damned sister. You think about her when you ran away with that shrink?"

Didn't Bobby know that she had thought of all of this every fucking day since she left? It devastated Mattie. She knew that she'd made the wrong decision; she really did, and hadn't ever forgotten about it. Mattie left her whole life behind in favor of what seemed like the better option. The dream existence with Patrick had been fleeting and she'd been truly unhappy for such a long time… How could she explain all that to Bobby? Mattie realized from the start that she should've stopped to think about what she was doing, but she couldn't. Her dad died and she turned everything upside down in order to pretend that none of it ever happened. Her family, the MC, had been at her side for all of it, and she kicked them to the curb because she was terrified of breaking down. Mattie thought she could be strong as long as the pain was far, far away.

"No. I didn't. I was selfish and I'd do anything to undo what I did, Bobby. Anything. I didn't know how to be here, in Charming, without Dad. I didn't want to know what that would be like. And…" She trailed. "You know what it was like with Tig. I couldn't deal with my dad dying and our shit at the same time. My whole world imploded in three damn months and I didn't know what to do."

Bobby drew a deep breath. "I would've helped you, love."

"I was too stubborn to let anybody know how pathetic I'd become. So I hid it and I left."

"Honey, you didn't hide anything. You're good, but you're not that good." Bobby said softly, setting his beer on her coffee table.

"I didn't think so." She pointed to the near empty bottle. "Want another?"

He grinned. "Gemma's lessons didn't wear off, I take it?"

"How do you think I got through six years of marriage?" Mattie replied, without thinking. Shit.

"You _married_ that sick old fuck? Oh, Matt, really? If your dad was still alive, Christ…"

"Tig was- is- older than me."

"You think your old man was happy about Tig gettin' with his only daughter? If I remember right, you weren't quite legal when all the shit went down." His tone was scolding but a grin was creeping along his lips, as though now, all this time later, the situation had become suddenly amusing.

"Maybe not."

She went off to quickly grab Bobby another beer, taking one for herself in the process. Alcohol didn't make her tongue wag, but it would eventually ease her into a restful sleep. Which she would need, considering that she still had to finish painting upstairs and unpack tomorrow. Mattie wasn't sure how the house would ever end up looking like, well, a house. Or why she'd thought she could handle it all on her own.

"Guess you didn't bring the shrink with you?"

"Hell no." Mattie answered. "We weren't meant to be."

That sounded so cheesy. It was true, though. Mattie probably could've gone pretending that she belonged at Patrick's side for the rest of her life, performing that same routine until it felt like real life. Six years and she never really regarded Patrick as her husband or New York City as her home. It was like a grand vacation. Perhaps she always knew that she'd have to return to California sooner or later, just never wanted to admit that her little experiment had failed. Changing her life had not changed who she was. Why she thought it would, Mattie didn't know.

"Who cheated?" Bobby asked, smiling. He'd been just finished wife number two the last time that Mattie had been in Charming, and she knew that Precious had not been partial to all the infidelity. It was something that Mattie had grown up understanding- good thing too, considering that she'd fallen in love with _Tig_- but for others outside the MC, she could see how the idea was unsettling. Still, she could not figure out why it hurt so much more when Tigger cheated compared to Patrick.

Mattie waved a hand. "It was more complicated than that. It was more than just Patrick. I realized that it was all wrong. New York was the worst place I could be."

"So you admitted that you were unhappy and left?" He said it like he was waiting for her to expand upon the idea. Like he knew that there was an unspoken reason for Mattie's return.

"I guess. It was like I put things on pause while I went to New York, and the whole time I lived there, I had this anxious feeling like I'd forgotten something. And it got worse and worse, until I just had to leave. And things with Patrick weren't working either. Everything combusted at once, and again, I said fuck it, and left." There was more than that, of course, but it was enough. Uncle Bobby had always understood that his niece was a less-is-more kind of girl when it came to explaining herself, and she knew that he'd accept her short explanation.

"So you decided to come back to Charming?"

"Yeah. Dumb, huh?"

"No, darlin'. Your family's here. And I don't mean your ma. I'm here and the club is here." He paused and sighed. "And Tig. I know he saw you when he went east. I don't know where things will go, but Matt, you gotta think this time. You were young, I get that, but come on, you can't fall head over heels anymore."

"I won't. I didn't come here for him."

"Be careful, Mattie. Your dad made me promise to keep you safe. I can't rescue you from a broken heart."

"You might say that now, Uncle Bobby, but I know you'll try." Mattie grinned, and he squeezed her hand in agreement.

He didn't know what exactly happened between her and Tig in New York. What Tig had said, Christ, it hadn't left her mind since the moment he whispered it into her ear. His lips barely catching her earlobe, the warm breath he exhaled making her shiver. Why had Tig done it? He must've known that it was an idea that she would latch onto. After all, she'd always been the stupid teenager and he was the biker one step ahead of her.

"You should come by the club on Sunday. It's Piney's birthday, although the old fart wants nothing to do with it. Gemma planned it. The MC will be there. Good opportunity to let everyone know that you're back in town." Bobby suggested, and she nearly choked on her beer.

"You think that's a good idea? I was gone for six years. I doubt that anybody's going to just forgive and forget."

"Mattie, you're not a Son. You were a lost daughter. Everybody was torn up when Book passed. They understood what you went through. You might have to explain yourself, kid, but you're still loved."

"I don't want to piss off Gemma."

"Gemma will get over it. Like I said, you were lost, and now you're figurin' shit out. Maybe it won't be immediate, but Gemma took care of you when Book and I weren't able to. You think we would've made it past your thirteenth birthday without her help? Christ, imagine me and your dad trying to shop for bras and shit with you."

He was right on that one. Mattie hadn't been too rebellious in her teen years- well, if one didn't count her experiences with Tig- but she might have been if Gemma hadn't been around to set her in the right direction. When she was sixteen, her dad and Bobby did six months in Stockton for assault- a stupid charge that never should've stuck- and Gemma had been the one to take her in. She did more for Mattie in six months than Reese ever did. Mattie was always jealous of Jax for having a mother like Gemma, and she still was, all these years later.

"I'll think about it."

"Donna and Opie will probably be there. Bet she would want to see you. Ya'll were attached at the hip, from what I remember."

That was true. Donna Lerner was a year older than Mattie, but they'd always gotten along, from the moment that Mattie punched a boy that had thrown a kickball directly in Donna's face during recess. She'd learned that move from Jackson, who'd done something similar for Mattie before he and Opie went up to the middle school. Mattie'd been the one to introduce Donna to Opie, although their romance had started many years after that schoolyard fight. Shit, Mattie was even godmother to their kids, and she'd barely seen them out of diapers. Bobby was right. She needed to make up for lost time, had to mend all those fences she'd jumped over in the attempt to get out of Charming as quickly as possible.

He glanced at the clock plugged in beneath the lamp in the corner. "I better get back to the clubhouse. You want me to spread the word that you're back or would you rather be the one reintroducing yourself?"

"If you spread it quietly. I don't want to make it into too big a deal."

"Sounds good to me, darlin'."

Mattie followed Bobby towards her front door, feeling a bit of warmth spread across her chest. Not from the beer, but from the long talk with her uncle. Bobby had always been one of the few people that she hadn't been afraid of opening up to, even if the move to New York had made her armor quite a bit thicker. How long would it take to shed her extra layers of protection? Matt wasn't sure, but had an idea that she would know after she spoke to Tig.

"I'll send the prospect over tomorrow morning to help you sort this mess out. Just started a couple months ago."

"How's he handling it?" Mattie asked with a smile. There had been an awful lot of prospects coming and going during her time in the clubhouse. It was rare for one to last the whole year.

"Not too bad." Bobby laughed, then leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Be good, Mattie. And don't worry too much. You'll get it all sorted out, sweetheart."

"I'll try. Love you, Uncle Bobby."

"Love you too, kid. See you Sunday."

Mattie watched him leave, standing in the doorway long enough to catch her neighbor pulling into her driveway. Must've just gotten back from work, she thought, and judging by the weary way that the woman glared at Bobby as he rode down the street, she wasn't too happy about having the MC so close to home. Mattie remembered that Charming was all too happy to have the Sons protect their little town, as long as the citizens didn't have to know the details.

Some things never changed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Stop making the eyes at me_

_I'll stop making the eyes at you_

_And what it is that surprises me_

_Is that I don't really want you to_

_And your shoulders are frozen (cold as the night)_

_Oh but you're an explosion (you're dynamite)_

_Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand_

_Lighting the fuse might result in a bang, with a bang-go!_

_I Bet That You Look Good on the Dance Floor – Arctic Monkeys_

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><p>It was fate, pure beautiful fate, that Little Miss Mercedes had accidentally left her wallet in the office. Lowell had discovered it when he went back in to grab his paycheck, and had the forethought to bring it to Chibs. He figured that she probably left it when Lowell photocopied her license and credit card to clip in her paperwork, which was insurance just in case one of Charming's lovely citizens decided to skip out paying for their repairs. Not that he thought Little Miss Mercedes- or Matilda, as her ID proclaimed- would leave such a nice cage to rot in Teller-Morrow's lot. She was expensive, and he didn't have any doubts about whether or not she could afford her bills.<p>

Now he just had to wait for Bobby to get back to the clubhouse so that he could ride over to her house in order to deliver the wallet. What a knight in shining armor he'd be then. He didn't really want Bobby's sloppy seconds, although he didn't like that a bird like that would go for Bobby. Not to knock him, Chibs loved Bobby, but there were drastic differences between the two men. Like a hundred-odd pounds, maybe. Which wasn't to say that Chibs was strikingly attractive, he knew that the scars and the dabs of grey in his hair were off putting to young women like her, but she seemed almost amused with his advances. A taut little smile as he complimented her body, those hazel eyes roaming his face as if to determine what exactly he wanted. Her. He wanted Matilda.

There was a pretty big chance that he would get shot down, and shot down hard, but he was willing to take the risk. After all, if Matilda decided that Chibs wasn't good enough for her diamond-encrusted pussy, he'd take his dick back to the sweetbutts. Win some, lose some, get some at the end of the night anyway. There were plenty of girls to go around back at the clubhouse, and once he saw Bobby's familiar round shape cruise through the front gates, Chibs made his move. Tig caught him on the way out, ribbing Chibs about his mystery girl again.

"I'm going to see her right now. The lovely left her wallet in the office, almost like she wanted me to find her."

"Brother, I think what you're doing is legally considered stalking." Tig replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll bail you out when she calls the cops about the creepy Scot jacking off outside her window."

"Thanks, Tiggy. I know you've always got my back."

Bobby was safely within the arms of some croweater as Chibs climbed onto his bike. Matilda didn't live too far away, and the short ride through the pleasant evening air did him good after being cooped up at TM all day. Sometimes all he needed was the purr of the engine and the pavement under his wheels to unwind. He also mentally prepared himself to see his little love once again, remembering how those tits looked under the sheer fabric of her shirt, cleavage rising out of a cluster of ruffles, although not in a vulgar way. No, there was nothing improper about her. His Matilda was pure class. He'd have do something to unbutton her, just a little bit.

The porch light was on as he pulled in front of her house, checking the number on the mailbox to be sure he had the right address. Aye, she'd be right inside, he thought with a grin, walking up to press the doorbell. Maybe he should've knocked instead, but he could hear the shuffle of footsteps and the sound of a lock being disengaged. His desire swelled for a moment, and Chibs had to remind himself that this was a situation that required finesse.

"Hello?" She asked when she opened the door, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Matilda looked much different from the last time he'd seen her, that pretty shirt replaced with a thin magenta sweatshirt over a white v-necked tee. More cleavage that he could admire. Those tight curls were swirled atop her head in a messy bun, a pair of those fashionably geeky glasses sitting atop the strip of freckles on her nose. This was good. She was already comfortable, a little undone. Plus he kind of liked the sexy librarian look the glasses gave her. She noticed him staring, once again. Yet, Matilda just watched him with rapt amusement. Chibs didn't know what he gotten himself into.

"Are ye Matilda Cardinal by any chance, love?" He asked, putting a hand into his pocket in order to pull out her wallet.

"Who wants to know?" She countered, looking over his cut.

"I'm Chibs." He offered her his hand, wondering if she'd shake it, as she'd done with Lowell earlier that afternoon.

"Well then, Chibs, I'm Matilda." She shook his hand, their warm fingers pressed together for just a moment. Her hands were soft. He liked that. "Mattie, actually."

"Well, Mattie, I've got something for ye." Chibs extended her expensive leather wallet into the open space between them. "Ye left it at the office."

She smiled, and held out her left hand to grab it, the yellow glow of the porch light illuminating the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. He hadn't been able to see it back at Teller-Morrow, for that was the same arm wrapped with all those bracelets, and now, he could see why. The bold printed letters were something he would've definitely noticed. SAMCRO. Black ink across her pale skin, clear as day. Shit. Who was she? Cardinal wasn't a surname that Chibs recognized, not in the context of the club. A fan? A new croweater?"

"Christ, thanks. I didn't even realize I lost it. You saved me a lot of worry." She smiled at him, and catching his gaze in the process. Mattie traced it back the ink on her wrist and the grin faltered.

"Where ye from, Mattie?" Chibs asked. He could see from his spot on the porch that the house was mostly empty. Probably just moved in.

"New York." It was an instant response; one that she'd probably trained herself to say.

"They have a lot of Redwood Originals on the east coast?" He swiped a fingertip across her tattoo, and she flinched, just a little.

"Not that I noticed." Her voice was even, as was her stare, their eyes connecting for a beat too long. Chibs wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or alarmed.

"Who are ye?" He requested, watching her lips part, as though she already had an answer ready, another pre-fab reply like the one before.

Mattie's phone rang, and she just looked at him again- no, not looking, studying, that's what that expression was- and sighed. Her hazel eyes dropped for an instant, betraying her stoic appearance for something much more defenseless. Chibs nodded, as though giving the girl permission to answer the call.

"Listen… Come in. I'll just be a second." She subtly motioned to the house next door, where the neighbor was pretending to have a smoke on her porch with her head craned towards Mattie and Chibs. Whoever Matilda was, she valued her privacy. He could appreciate the sentiment.

Mattie pointed towards the chestnut leather armchair, the only real piece of furniture in the whole room. Definitely just moved in, he reaffirmed, looking at the pile blankets on the floor and recognizing the smell of wet paint. She brushed past him and plucked a fancy cell from the makeshift bed and headed to the other side of the room, her clean, feminine smell wafting over him as she did so.

Hadn't he come here in the hopes of having sex with a beautiful and mysterious woman? Chibs thought about how strange everything had suddenly gotten- but then, maybe it wasn't. A tattoo was just a tattoo. How many croweaters had something related to the MC inked on their bodies? Plenty, that was the answer, which Chibs knew personally, from seeing so many of them naked. Mattie was just the same.

The nagging feeling in his gut begged to differ.

He could hear her, just barely, the sound waxing and waning as she paced through the opposite room, which as far as he could tell, was completely empty. He'd moved to California from _Ireland_ and had more possessions. Chibs supposed that his original hypothesis was true; she was probably running from an ex. No. Still didn't make any sense. There had to be answers somewhere, because Chibs figured that the enigmatic Matilda wouldn't be as forthcoming as he wanted.

Standing, he walked towards Mattie, catching her attention with a brief wave. She clapped a hand over the cell, and nodded.

"I gotta use the little boys' room."

She couldn't keep her eyebrows from narrowing just the slightest bit. "Uh, upstairs, through the bedroom that's on the left."

"Thanks."

Shit, was he wrong. The amount of boxes in the walk-in closet marked _clothes_ proclaimed that she wasn't a poor little thing running away from big bad boyfriend. It stank of drying paint, which was probably why she was sleeping in the living room for the time being. One mystery solved, at least. This space was just as sparse as most of the downstairs. If she arrived before the furniture, then she'd definitely left New York rather quickly. And the damage to the Benz- how did that fit in? What had Chibs gotten himself into? All he wanted was some pussy and some whiskey, and now he had, well… Neither of those two things, that was for sure.

And he was fucking tired of playing CSI: Matilda Cardinal.

Heading back down to Mattie, he noticed that she'd settled into the heap of blankets, still on the phone. She smiled at him briefly, before sighing at whoever she was speaking with.

"Patrick, we can figure this out on Monday. Nothing's going to get solved over the weekend. I'll call him them. Okay. That's fine. Yeah, good night." Her tone was increasing irritated, as though 'Patrick' had been a comment away from truly pissing her off.

Mattie tossed the phone next to her, flicking her fingers across the screen a few times in the process. His prepaid looked like it came from the Stone Age compared the piece of technology at her side.

"Sorry." She said, tucking her knees against her chest. He liked the pose for some reason, although Chibs could not say why.

"It's fine." Chibs waited a moment before continuing with the same line of fruitless questioning he'd began fifteen minutes ago. "Who are ye, darlin'?"

"Matilda Cardinal."

"That's very funny, love, but I don't think yer being straight with me. Yer obviously something more than your name."

"I don't know who you are either." She countered, though he could see the grin playing on her lips. Chibs wondered whether this was her idea of flirtation.

"I've got the Reaper on my cut. If yer familiar with SAMCRO, that should be enough." He rubbed the spot inside his own wrist to prove the point.

"Bobby Elvis is my uncle." Mattie drawled slowly, removing her gaze from him. "And my dad was a Son."

"Was?" Chibs asked gently.

"He died about six years ago. Natural causes. That's why you and I have never met. I left Charming after he… passed."

There was the truth, all laid in front of him. He wouldn't have guessed the relation to Bobby; they shared no common features besides the curly hair. Although that was probably a good thing, to be honest. Chibs had only arrived at the MC about five years ago, after all the shit with Fiona and Jimmy O, so she was right. They were like ships passing in the dark. And he'd gone and made a fool of himself at Teller-Morrow, coming on to the daughter of Son like that. Shit. Bobby's niece? That made Matilda a little more untouchable than he previously anticipated.

"Why'd ye come back?" It may have been crossing a line, but he wanted to know.

She shrugged. "Been trying to figure that out since I made the decision to leave New York."

"And the tattoo? Where'd ye get that, love?"

Mattie looked at the ink, running her index finger across it, as though that would erase the permanence. "It was a gift."

"From?"

She laughed, surprising him. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Ye avoid a lot of questions."

Mattie smiled, making the corners of her eyelids wrinkle just a bit. Chibs found it endearing. "I do. If you want information about me, I'm the worst person to ask."

"And the best?" Okay, he couldn't resist.

"Chibs, you do not get the hint, do you? Come on, go back the clubhouse. I'm not a sweetbutt and I'm not your old lady, so you're going to have to go elsewhere."

"That's not why I came here. I was returning yer wallet." Chibs couldn't keep the chuckle out of his tone, so he bit his lip to hide his smirk.

"Sure. 'Ye look pretty good to me. I like 'em natural.' Were you talking to Lowell? I mean, I get it. Different strokes for different folks." Mattie's impression of his accent was truly terrible, but the attempt amused the both of them.

He liked the rapid back and forth they'd adopted, the way that her hazel eyes sparkled when she was pleased. Matilda might not have been what he originally thought, but she was something Chibs enjoyed. It wasn't often that he spoke with a woman that could keep her own in a conversation- after all, the most he ever said to a sweetbutt was, hey, wanna fuck?- or that could flirt without licking her lips or wiggling her tits. Which, he was still quite partial towards, even if she was Bobby's niece.

"Ye picked up on that, did ye? What can I say; I have a penchant for mechanics. And lovely American daughters." He couldn't help himself.

"Go home before you get yourself into trouble, Chibs." Mattie warned warmly, getting up and heading towards the front door. She stopped as her fingers touched the doorknob, lifting her head in a nervous way. "Hey, can I ask you a weird question?"

"Sure, Mattie."

"Would you mind… waiting until the club knows I'm back before telling everyone that we've already met? It's just that I was away for a long time and I don't know what kind of reception I'm going to get. And before you ask, yes, I know that I sound crazy."

"Not crazy. I get it. I'll keep our rendezvous a secret, darlin'."

She rolled her eyes at his choice of word. "Thanks, Chibs. It was nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." He reached for her hand, which Mattie slowly relinquished to his hold. "I look forward ta asking ye many more questions."

"I look forward to deflecting them." Christ, she was good at this.

Chibs turned her hand over, looking at the tattoo once again. He wondered whom it had come from, and glanced at her face. Mattie was young, around Jax's age, he thought. Maybe it came from him or Opie? They would've grown up together, all three fathers in the Sons of Anarchy. Brushing aside the mystery for one moment, he bent and pressed his lips against her palm, leaving a moist kiss behind. Mattie's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. Satisfied, Chibs opened the door and headed outside.

He'd made enough of a first impression.

* * *

><p><strong>The next chapter is going to be the MattieTig reunion. I promise. I know the pacing is kind of slow, but I wanted to get everything set up before throwing characters into situations. And I'm not sure what I'm going to do with Chibs' role in the story, but I have a couple ideas. Anyway, thank you guys for reading and please leave me a review to let me know what you think of what's happened thus far!**


	5. Chapter 5

_In the dark of the night I can hear you calling my name_

_With the hardest of hearts I still feel full of pain_

_So I drink and I smoke and I ask you if you're ever around_

_Even though it was me who drove us right in the ground_

_See the time we shared it was precious to me_

_But all the while I was dreaming of revelry_

_Gonna run baby run like a stream down a mountainside_

_With the wind at my back I won't ever even bat an eye_

_Just know it was you all along who had a hold of my heart_

_But the demon in me was the best of friends from the start_

_Revelry – Kings of Leon_

* * *

><p>"Baby girl!" The exclamation made Tig turn, too quickly, and he could feel his beer slosh over the lip of the bottle.<p>

That didn't matter, though, not at all. What mattered was whether those words were directed at who he thought they were, if that was her back with dark brown curls scattered across it, if those were her pale legs underneath that navy blue dress. It had to be. That was Jax's nickname for Mattie, what he'd been calling her since they were kids. Maybe two years separated them, but Jax liked to play up the difference. Tig's conversation with Juice evaporated, the younger man's words disappearing below the pounding in Tig's ears. Was she really there? No. Mattie had a whole life separate from Tig's, and separate from the club's. She was gone.

But Jackson's words were directed at her, making that merry little laugh Tig had once gotten so accustomed to fill the room. Everything was suddenly very warm. Very loud and yet silent at the same time, like her words and actions were magnified and everyone else's muffled. None of this could be happened, not when he was so ill prepared for any of it. He put her behind him; she'd been absent from his side for so long that he barely felt the empty space anymore. Matilda didn't matter, not to Tig. She left him, and he forgot about her. It was easy to just keep pressing the alcohol against his lips and to keep fucking all the women who weren't her. She'd run away and he had to pay the consequences for what she did. Okay, Tig contributed, but he wasn't about to think about that.

Tig never admitted it when Mattie was around, but shit, he'd really fallen in love with her. He never told her because love made a man weak, and if there was something that Tig hated, it was weakness. He was Sergeant-at-Arms for the mother charter of the Sons of Anarchy, he had power. People did what he said, and if they didn't, well, there was hell to pay and dicks to be stomped. Mattie had spoiled him, she was a good little old lady- but she wasn't _his_ old lady, because Tig Trager did not have old ladies- until he pressed her too hard. And then she'd gone all the way across the country, where he couldn't see her, where she wouldn't have to talk to him. That's all he wanted sometimes, to just hear her voice. The thought made him hate himself, but hate her more. Mattie had done something to Tig, something detrimental that he never understood. She had lent him a certain bit of strength, that when she left, vanished with her.

It hadn't been his original intention to see her in New York, he'd had Juice find out her address and Tig memorized it, just in case. When he tracked her down, when he saw how she lived and how she looked, it was good. She wasn't his Mattie anymore. She wasn't his baby girl, she was an adult with a man and a couple step-kids and a dog. Then she'd caught his gaze in the lobby of her fancy apartment building and he saw that all of the luxury was just a disguise. A girl like Mattie didn't belong in that world, and then she'd pressed her lips against his, in greeting. It was supposed to be platonic, he could tell by the tension pinning her shoulders back, but he didn't care at that moment. Tig pulled her to his chest the second the elevator started to drag them up to her apartment, kissing her again, harder, to make sure that it was really Mattie. When his favorite tiny whimper of desire rose in the back of her throat, he knew that it was still Mattie underneath the designer coat and heavy makeup.

It had been a bad decision to bring him to her bed, where he ripped her clothes off, where it was too easy to run his fingers over that lithe body. Nothing made sense as Mattie groaned his name when he pushed inside her, first viciously, to show her that she'd hurt him, and then gently, when she proved that she didn't hold any of his actions against him. Christ, it was like suddenly things were back where they were supposed to be. Tig could think a little bit clearer, knowing that Mattie still felt something for him, even if she didn't live fifteen minutes away from the club anymore. And then he went home, solidifying the distance between them. Everything was fine, at first, but he unraveled, faster and faster, forgetting about brains before bullets, remembering that Mattie was not his anymore. That was the problem. She made him feel powerful; she looked at him like he put the stars in the sky. The sweetbutts and croweaters pawed at him because Tig had a big dick and a lot of influence in the club, but with Mattie… She loved him. Truly loved him, and not just because he was a Son. Mattie gave him a different kind of comfort, a kind that no sweetbutt could provide.

Now, he had no idea what the fuck she thought she was doing, talking with Jax and Opie like she had when they were all kids. Didn't he have the right to know that she was coming back? Tig watched her, despising the way that Mattie closed her eyes when she laughed, how she placid she looked within all the chaos. Like she never left at all. It didn't matter. He wasn't in love with her anymore. Tig Trager was in love with one person- himself- and wasn't looking to change things any time soon.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" Gemma's voice interrupted his rage.

"I'm good, Gem. Great. Think I'll find myself a piece of pussy and settle down for the night." Tig replied, although the words were directed to Mattie. She couldn't hear him, but it made him feel better.

The Queen grinned and ignored his declaration. "You gonna talk to her?"

"Nothing to talk about, darlin'."

"It's not all Mattie's fault, you know. You made a choice, Tig."

He drew a deep breath to keep his anger from spilling out onto Gemma. She was the only person that knew about the depth of Tig's feelings for Mattie. Not because he wanted to tell her, but because Gemma Teller-Morrow was good at obtaining sensitive information without much hard labor. Plus, she knew both sides of the story. Although Tig could never figure out which she favored.

"Maybe. But does the bitch have to show up to the club without so much as giving me a warning that she'd back in town?"

"Give her a warning when you showed up at her apartment?" Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think so."

Why did he have to get shitfaced the second he got back from New York and tell her what he did? Tig was not the sort of drunk whose tongue got loose, but Gemma always knew exactly when to strike. She noticed that he was more uncontrolled than usual, and she wanted to know why. Now she did.

"That wasn't important. This makes things completely different."

"We both know that's not true." Gemma patted his shoulder in a soothing way. "Go ahead. I'll occupy Jackson for a few minutes."

Tig sighed, ready to protest, but the Queen was gone. This was supposed to be a party for Piney, not a reconciliation for Mattie and Tigger. What would Mattie even have to say to him? They were on two different wavelengths; they didn't understand one another anymore. She was still beautiful and still young, she was a lawyer with a career and a man- and he was still just a biker. But there had always been something connecting them, something intangible that Tig could never figure out. It pulled them together, but wasn't quite tight enough to keep the bond permanent.

He didn't want Mattie around. It had been simpler when she was gone. Tig didn't have to worry about anybody besides himself, didn't have to worry about club business spilling out onto her. Mattie was safe in New York, where there were no Mayans, no Niners, and no Nords. Any harm that could come to her would have nothing to do with Tig or the MC. Not exactly the more reassuring thought, but it made him feel a little less guilty knowing that his life couldn't shit on hers from more than two thousand miles away. That was really the only good thing about the distance.

Gemma took Jackson by the arm, leading him away, and Opie left, probably to check on Donna and the kids, and suddenly, she was alone. Mattie crossed an arm across her torso, standing on her tiptoes to look around the party, making those legs look even longer. Fuck it. Maybe he'd have to speak to her to get her off his mind. The space between them closed, but she didn't notice Tig's advancing form. Mattie turned, waving to somebody, but his hand closed around her wrist, not viciously, but not quite kindly, either.

"Tigger." She remarked, looking up to him.

"Baby girl," He repeated Jax's words, only more quietly. She would recognize the meaning.

It was strange having her so close, having her in a place where she was so easily accessible. Her scent, jasmine perfume and laundry detergent, was oddly comforting as she reached up to wrap her arms around him. The action was too formal, but as her cheek pressed against his, Tig couldn't help but smile.

She wasn't the girl he'd seen in New York. That girl had been some kind of false Matilda, just holding her place until she returned to Charming. Her hair hung in its familiar tight curls, falling just a little bit longer than her shoulders, her makeup much lighter. Just a little bit of mascara in those long eyelashes, which rimmed her hazel eyes. Those knowing hazel eyes watching him as he took Mattie in, his gaze running over the navy-colored dress that made her look so very pale. Strapless, skimming along those curves- his curves, he errantly thought- ending a few inches above her knees. She looked like the girl that left him standing in the airport all those years ago. But she wasn't a girl anymore, she was twenty-seven, an adult.

"Enjoying the festivities?" There was a conversation they needed to have, but it wasn't going to take place that evening. Not when she was already looking at him with that nervous glint in her eyes.

"Yeah. It's nice to see everyone again. You, too." Mattie replied, leaning against him as he slid an arm over her shoulders. Protectively, because he wanted all the men that hadn't seen this new, older Mattie to know that she wasn't available for their company.

"I know. You look good, doll. Real good."

"Tig, you always knew what to say to a lady." She replied, taking a sip of the drink in her hand. It was Jack Daniels, and normally she'd be swilling it out of the bottle, sharing it with him. Maybe she became more refined than Tig wanted to give her credit for.

"One of my many talents. I'm just glad that you haven't run away from me yet. That's something you were always damned good at."

"Guess so. Although it was because I listened to you that everything happened in the first place." Her tone was low, warning him not to go any further in the room full of people.

"You're right." He drawled, kissing the top of her head a little spitefully. Mattie's curls tickled his lips, and she had a bit of his shirt bunched in her hand. When she was younger, she'd do the same thing when they were together. Her way of showing the women that he was hers- not that she ever really asserted that kind of dominance. Maybe it was her way of admitting that she missed him. Or it was just a compulsive action she hadn't been able to shed.

"I bought a house over on Wolf Court." Mattie whispered, glancing up at him. "It's small, but I really love it."

"Back for good, then?" It came out too hopeful, which she noticed. Fuck.

"If you want me to be, then yes. I'll stay away from the club if it's too weird. I don't want get in your way."

Mattie was asking for his permission to restart her life. Tig thought about it all time, what would happen if she ever came back to Charming, but all of the scenarios seemed just so fucking stupid now. This was real life, and he had no right to tell her what to do. She wasn't his old lady, because that would put her in a place that he really never wanted to her to be, but she was one of two women that he would always want to keep safe. Losing her once had taught Tig a hard lesson, and for right now at least, he'd be damned if she was going anywhere. Plus, wouldn't it be nice to have Mattie to crawl back to after a difficult run?

"Babe, you are sure as fuck not going anywhere."

"Missed you, too." Mattie teased, leaning her head back against his arm. "I'm going to refresh my glass. Need anything?"

"Bring back the bottle. Tell Half-Sack it's for me." Seeing her confusion, he clarified. "The prospect."

Mattie nodded, taking his beer and walking away. She still had that same graceful walk, slowly making her way through all the brothers and hangarounds. Tig grinned at the view of her ass gliding underneath her cotton dress, just as Chibs settled in the now empty spot at his side. The Scot was well into his whiskey, judging by the rowdy way that he punched Tig in the arm.

"Ye are a right bastard, Brother." Chibs slurred, shaking his head.

"That's what my mom used to tell me."

"I shouldn't have left ye alone with her. Always stealin' my pussy."

Tig laughed, looking back towards the croweater he'd been stalking before he saw Mattie. "The blonde is all yours, Chibs. You've got my blessing, but don't be surprised when she tells you that your dick is too small and that I've ruined her for other men. I get that a lot."

"Not the blonde, ye fuck. Matilda, my girl with the Benz."

Chibs had to fucking kidding him. Mattie was the girl with the Mercedes that Chibs had been talking about for hours yesterday? Little Miss Mercedes he'd called her, talking about her tits and her pouty lips and her ass. _His_ Mattie. The Scot pined over her curves, describing the way that he planned to fuck her in detail, every other word out of his mouth either pussy or cock or titties. Over his dead body would Mattie be with another man, especially another Son. Chibs might not have known about Tig's association with Mattie yesterday, but today was a different story. Tig practically marked Mattie as his property, pulling her away from everybody else, and Chibs was still under the impression that she was his for the taking. No fucking way. Mattie and Tigger might not be in a relationship, not like they were all those years ago, but she was not quite available either.

"If you _ever_ talk about my girl's pussy again, I will put a bullet through that scarred up face of yours. Understand me?" Tig snarled, pressing his face closer to Chibs'.

"She's not yer old lady." The Scot was so shitfaced he had no concept of the giant line he was crossing.

"You want your dick sucked, go to a sweetbutt. That girl," Tigger pointed at the brunette sauntering towards them, "is _mine_."

"I want her to do more than just suck my cock, Tigger." Chibs drawled slowly, grinning at Mattie as came over.

Tigger pushed Chibs back, forcefully shoving him by the shoulders. Nobody was going to talk about Mattie that way. Chibs might be drunk, but his words were not going to go unpunished.

"Don't you even think about it." Tig seethed. "Get off with somebody else, because Mattie is not going anywhere close to your dick. Ever."

Chibs just smiled. "Wanna bet?"

It was around then that his fist connected with Chibs' cheek, not able to contain his fury anymore. What a fucking idiot. The Scot was stunned for a moment, but he set his glass down, sure not to spill a drop, and tried his best to deck Tig. Not because he wanted to fight over Mattie, but because when another man punches you, well, you better react. The blow glanced off Tig's cut, the leather cushioning most of the blow. Couldn't even get a decent hit in. What a goddamn asshole. Tig flung his right hand again, catching Chibs in the gut, making the Scot double over just a bit before trying to retaliate. His sloppy blows didn't hurt, but they pushed Tig back, into Mattie's soft hands, her fingers digging into his cut. She was trying to pull him away, his name leaving her lips with such urgency that Tig could hear nothing else. Chibs stood, cocking his head and swinging one last time, missing him by a mile. Jax grabbed Chibs while he stumbled, shaking his head viciously at Tig the whole time. The VP didn't exactly have a lot of love for the Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Tigger- shit!" Mattie lifted her hand to his face, where a tiny cut had opened up by his left eye. Guess the Scot got at least one decent strike in. It wasn't bleeding badly, but she dashed back to get a clean bar rag and hold it against the wound.

Sensing that the whole room was watching him, Tig did what any sensible man would do. Celebrated his victory. He placed one hand behind Mattie's head and the other in the small of her back, dipping her downwards. She tensed for a moment before he kissed her, then relaxed, allowing him to hold her. Mattie grasped his cut with one hand for leverage, the other lost in his hair, rubbing delicious circle into his scalp with her blunt fingernails. Yes. This was what he missed. Well, Tigger missed everything, but for now, for where they were and the grand gesture he wanted to make, this was right. She tasted of liquor and strawberry chapstick, the two distinct flavors mixed together as her lips parted. Tigger let his tongue travel into Mattie's mouth, the familiar warmth and wetness reminding him of another area of her body altogether. The thought made the crotch of his jeans strain, his dick struggling to get free. But it wasn't going to be that kind of night. Not yet.

Gently, so very gently, he felt her moan, the sound lost in all the noises of the club. Tigger kept her close as he pulled away, watching the shy smile spread across her lips.

Yeah, he definitely made his point.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So hopefully I did Tig some justice. I probably spent like an hour and half editing, trying to get Tig right. And I just want to thank everybody for the reviews, alerts and favorites! It lets me know that the story is heading down the right road. And they're super motivating! I managed to write two chapters since I posted the last one. Anyway, thank you for reading and please keep reviewing to let me know if the reunion turned out okay! **


	6. Chapter 6

_And I should have known_

_That it wouldn't be long until you_

_You've got me standing in an awkward position_

_With unwanted attention_

_And a need for explanation_

_And it's not that I'm letting go of you_

_But I dunno what to do_

_Skeleton Song – Kate Nash_

* * *

><p>Mattie awoke with a wince, the kink in her neck and headache attacking her temples making the morning sun seem just a tad too bright. She was home, although she couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wandered through the house-which made no sense, considering that the coffee pot had been lost amongst the sea of boxes in the basement- and so Mattie groggily crawled out of her makeshift bed to figure out who brewed it and how.<p>

A scruffy blonde man leaned against the kitchen counter, holding one of Mattie's favorite red mugs against his lips. He grinned at her, mumbling a good morning, which made her instantly wary. Had she invited him back to her place after the party yesterday? Christ, Tig was going to slaughter her if he found out. There was an unspoken agreement that she needed his permission if she was to pursue another man. She had no idea what Chibs had done last night, but whatever he'd said had ended badly. Mattie knew better than to ask questions, and plus, she had a good idea what exactly they'd been fighting about. Tigger was anything but subtle, and that ostentatious kiss he'd laid on her immediately after knocking Chibs on his ass alluded to much more than Tig just being happy to see her. He was showing the whole club that Mattie was his, even if they weren't really together anymore. It was not really the reunion she was looking for, but certainly, things could've been much worse.

Shit. Way to early to think about things like that.

"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" She croaked, brushing past him to pour herself a cup. The only reason she wasn't calling the police- besides the fact that she'd been taught to distrust the cops- was the leather cut the man wore.

"Oh, yeah, um, I'm Half-Sack- uh, I mean, Kip- and Bobby well, he told me to come by and help you unpack. I would've been by yesterday, but Clay had me running some errands before the party." The younger man stuttered, swallowing hard. Maybe she shouldn't have been so caustic.

"The prospect, right? You were tending bar yesterday," Mattie offered with a sleepy grin, extending a hand. "I'm Mattie. Bobby's niece."

"Nice to meet you. Um, I found a couple cans of paint on the basement stairs. I thought I might start with that, if you don't mind. Or I can unpack. Which I already kind of did, you know, to find the coffee pot. Sorry." His face turned an even deeper shade of red.

Mattie shook her head. "It's okay. Painting would be an amazing help."

"Great. I mean, good, good. And, uh, I didn't mean to snoop, but your phone rang, like, sixty times this morning. When I finally found it, well, I think it ran out of battery because it was pretty quiet after that."

"Thanks, Half-Sack." She knew that was what the boys would call him, and the faster he got used to it, the easier things would get. The last prospect she could remember was called Dumpy, because he had a bad breakfast burrito and shit his pants while workin in the garage. Judging by the fact that there had been no Dumpy at the party yesterday, he hadn't ever gotten his top rocker.

Mattie took her cup of coffee back into the living room, grimacing at the dark liquid. She didn't like her morning cup of joe black, but considering that she had no fridge yet, it was kind of hard to justify buying half-and-half. Swilling the too sweet drink- she'd made up for the lack of cream by dumping a load of sugar into it- Mattie located her phone and plugged into the wall, listening to the little jingle as it powered up. Sure enough, there was a long list of missed calls, a couple voicemails, and two texts. Her step-kids had both called twice, and were responsible for the barely legible messages. They were the only reason that she had so much trouble leaving New York. After six years, Maya and Seth felt kind of like _her_ kids. Well, at least until their mother decided that Mattie was ruining their future and sent them to boarding school up in New Hampshire. Sighing and firing off two responses that didn't really explain anything- it was hard to describe her need for Charming with text speak- Mattie heard the clanking of metal against the floorboards upstairs.

She was glad for the help painting, because when she'd started the other day, Mattie had been quite bad at it. All four walls ended up looking like they were coated in different colors, the paint strokes coming across as though a crazy person had attempted the project. Maybe without that to worry about, Mattie could buckle down and manage to unpack more than a dozen boxes without freaking the fuck out. At least the Mercedes was far away from the baseball bat that still sat in her garage.

The furniture company called with the news that the truck would arrive some time in the afternoon, which Mattie figured meant that they'd probably end up at her doorstep around dinnertime. The cable company would be setting up her internet and her satellite tomorrow, which meant that she'd have to actually pick up the televisions she'd ordered from O'Brian's Electronics. Without a car. The last two voicemails were from Lowell and Donna, Lowell asking her to swing by TM so that they could discuss the repairs, Donna wondering when Mattie would drag her ass by the house for dinner that week.

A knock at the door distracted Mattie from the phone in her hands. Regretting the fact that she hadn't asked Half-Sack to wait so that she could shower- there was a bathroom in the basement, but all it had was a tiny shower stall- she ran a hand down her wrinkled t-shirt and leapt up to greet her visitor. Maybe the outfit would pass for grungy work clothes pulled out so that she could paint. Nope, she thought, glancing down at the polar bears on her pants. These definitely looked like pajamas.

"Hey, baby." Gemma smiled in a way that wasn't quite welcoming when Mattie wrenched the door open.

"Hi, Gemma. I didn't know you were coming by, or I would've cleaned up a little bit."

"Honey, when you have a house full of nothing, it's a little hard to _clean_." Gemma pushed past Mattie, not waiting to be invited in. "I thought you might've stayed at the clubhouse, state that you were in last night."

"Nope." Even if she couldn't explain how she got home, Mattie knew better than to expect to be allowed an overnight stay at the MC, and certainly not during her first weekend back.

"You still a flight risk, baby girl?" Gemma asked her coldly, not waiting for more pleasantries before running in for the kill. She ran her suspicious eyes over Mattie's rumpled PJs. "Because I wouldn't want you to ruffle more feathers by leaving as quickly as you arrived."

"I plan to stay." Mattie said softly, watching at Gemma looked around her empty house.

"Good, good. I heard you and Tigger had quite the reunion last night. Not wasting any time getting back to his good graces, huh?" It was an accusation that Mattie couldn't deny that she deserved; even if it was a little bit early to be reminded of the kiss that still made her want to fall to the floor.

"That was all Tig. He approached me, Gemma. I kept my distance."

"I know, baby girl, I know." It was Jax's nickname for Mattie, one that Gemma had adopted a very long time ago. "I brought one of Bobby's famous muffins. Figured that you didn't have the kitchen set up for cooking just yet."

Mattie nervously took the outstretched brown bag, watching the woman that had practically raised her. Trusting the fact that Gemma wouldn't poison her, at least not with Half-Sack noisily working upstairs, she led the queen into her sparse kitchen. Gesturing to the round table with two mismatched chairs, Mattie sat first, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Gemma gave her no clues as she took her spot across from Mattie.

"Thanks, Gemma." When she was met with silence, Mattie continued, "I know it was wrong of me to show up at Piney's party, but Bobby invited me. I should've checked to see whether it was alright first."

Gemma shrugged. "You do what you want, sweetheart. I'm not your mother."

The dig almost made Mattie frown, but she managed to couch the action by biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

"So were you happy in New York, like you thought you'd be?"

Mattie had the conversation with Gemma six years ago, in the kitchen of her father's house, which was only a few blocks west of her current address. They'd just spent the past few hours packing up all the things that Mattie had grown up with, trying to get the house ready to sell, or at least be rented out. Mattie had come to the easy decision that it wasn't a place that she wanted to spend anymore time inside, not without her dad. It was a time in her life when Mattie told Gemma everything, when she called home to Charming a couple times a week to talk to the strong-willed woman, the only maternal figure she regarded with any true importance. And then her dad died and Mattie became so closed off that she was sure that Gemma knew that she'd do something stupid. Which, of course, she did. Gemma warned her about Patrick, she said that the psychiatrist wasn't good for Mattie and that no matter what Tig did, he'd always keep her safe. But he hadn't. He forced her do something that she absolutely did not want to do and it ruined her. Then her father passed not even four months later and Mattie had no idea where Charming fit into her life. The option to leave and never look back overwhelmed her every thought, it gave her the ability to escape from an existence that scared the shit out of her. It was _easy_. Compared to California, where there was grief and heartbreak, New York was so fucking simple. Patrick was the complete opposite of Tig, he supported her emotionally and he didn't cheat on her every six seconds and he was just so damned _normal_.

Gemma's response after Mattie rambled on and on that night six years ago? _There's not going to be a day where you don't need Charming, when you don't need Tigger, and the sooner you get that through your head, the less the idea is going to hurt._ _That man you think you love has no concept of what you need. You leave, Matt, and things are going to get real hard for you, whether it takes five months or five years. Don't think you won't come back. Save yourself the trouble and power through all the painful shit. You've done it before. Summon the strength that I know you've got and do whatever it fucking takes to be the Mattie I know you are_.

Matilda hadn't listened. And Gemma was right, more than she would ever know.

"Of course not." Mattie whispered. "I hated practically every moment I spent in that place."

Gemma nodded, pursing her lips. "Baby girl, there's a lot of people that are glad you're back. I don't know if I'm one of them, but you have a place at my table. Even when you were off living that jet set life of yours, you had a place. Remember that when life gets difficult. You and I both know it will. Maybe it'll be enough to motivate you to stay."

"Thanks." Mattie sank deeper into her chair. "I'm sorry for what I did. I'm unbelievably sorry. I know that it doesn't make a difference to hear me say it, but I am."

Gemma smiled coolly, and motioned towards the ceiling, where the sound of Half-Sack's radio bled through. "Got the prospect, I guess?" That was the queen's way of saying that particular topic of conversation was over, but judging by the way she didn't accept Mattie's apology, it would be eventually revisited.

"He seems like a good kid."

"Yeah, for the most part. Still getting used to all the shit he has to put up with." Gemma stood up. "Make sure he takes you to get some damn furniture. It's fucking depressing as hell in here."

"I will."

After escorting the Gemma out, Mattie headed down to the shower in the basement, dodging walls of boxes. It would be less awkward than walking past the prospect in only a towel- her robe, well, she had little to no idea where that had ended up- although she managed to knock down something that sounded quite broken the moment it fell on the floor. She wondered how Half-Sack had managed to be so quiet upon his entrance that morning, after all, he'd made the same trek downstairs to find her coffee pot. Although, how he'd gotten inside the house in the first place, well… Mattie decided not to focus on that little problem.

There were plenty of bigger things to worry about.

* * *

><p>"Hey, there's a pizza and a turkey sub downstairs. You can have as much of either as you want. I also picked up a six pack of beer." Mattie said, smiling at the progress he'd made.<p>

Half-Sack grinned back at Mattie, following her to the large kitchen. The house currently had nothing in it, but when it did, well, he was sure that it would be something special. It had good bones, as his mother would've said. Plus, she certainly had enough in the basement to fill the home, but he hadn't noticed any furniture. The bedroom didn't even have a bed, and the only appliance in the kitchen was a microwave plopped lazily on the dark granite counters. Even judging by the bare rooms, whoever this Mattie was- she'd politely declined to answer the one semi-personal question he'd attempted- she definitely had style. Whether it was innate or learned, the Prospect didn't know.

She didn't seem to mind when he asked for the pizza, or the fact that he didn't eat meat. Mattie simply apologized for the gaffe and dug into the sandwich.

"Where I come from, practically everybody is vegan or vegetarian. Trust me, I'm used to it." Mattie offered the tiny piece of information carefully, raising an eyebrow as he decided how to respond.

"Yeah, Bobby said that you moved from the east coast, right?"

"New York City. I was raised in Charming, though. I moved after I graduated college."

"Oh, I see. What did you do out there? I mean, not to pry or anything." Half-Sack looked down at his slice, even though he had no real reason to be embarrassed. When he asked Bobby what his niece was like, his response was that Mattie would probably be too easy on him and to enjoy it while it lasted.

"It's okay. I went to law school. Kind of hated it all." Mattie replied, shrugging. "I went into family law, so like divorces and custody battles, that sort of thing. Not _Law and Order_ exactly, but it pays the bills."

Mattie gestured to her empty house with thinly veiled sarcasm, laughing softly. Half-Sack hoped that tomorrow she'd be able to sleep on an actual mattress, as she seemed so tiny and sad in the spot in the living room when he'd come in that morning. It was Jackson's idea to get the early start- the VP seemed to have a brotherly soft spot for the brunette- and he'd accompanied the Prospect. Just in case Mattie freaked out having a stranger bust in her front door, Jax said, but he hadn't the heart to wake the sleeping girl before heading back to the clubhouse. Half-Sack expected Mattie to be much more startled when she'd encountered him drinking _her_ coffee out of _her_ mug in _her_ kitchen, but she glanced at his prospect cut and seemed relieved. A weird reaction for a woman to have, especially considering that the pair had little idea of the other's identity. Mattie must've had more experience with the MC than Half-Sack gave her credit for.

"You going to practice out here?" He asked, taking a tentative sip of the cheap beer she'd bought. Her excuse was that if it got skunky before the fridge arrived, she wouldn't feel so bad tossing it out.

"I don't know yet. I'd have to take California's bar exam, and I really fucking despised my job, to be honest. So I might float for a while before making anything concrete."

"Maybe you can help Gemma in the office. She's always complaining about all the work that has to get done." He said it without thinking.

He'd heard Gemma's voice float up the staircase after the knocking on the door was answered, and he knew better than to listen to whatever conversation the two women had. It had only been a few months since he got sponsored to be a prospect, but he'd learned a lot since then. So he put on the old radio Mattie left upstairs, tuning it to his favorite classic rock station before making sure it was loud enough to cover their chat. The queen had not acknowledged his presence, which he decided was a good thing. It was better to float under her radar than be called out.

"Maybe." Mattie replied, lifting her eyes to his.

She was a couple years older than him, he figured, although she was still young. Mattie had a certain air of composure, an evenness in her tone of voice that he found comforting. He thought that she was nice, sort of quiet though. And she seemed to like him too, albeit in a hair ruffling, making sure he was well-fed sort of way. That was fine with him, he saw whatever that little display was with Tig the night before, and Half-Sack had zero intention of moving in on that territory. The Sergeant-at-Arms scared the shit out of him, and he didn't want to receive the same beating that Chibs endured.

Whatever the Scot had said must've pissed Tig the hell off, and Half-Sack could only assume that it'd been about Mattie. He didn't miss the tender way that she pressed the rag against Tig's bleeding eyebrow, or how Tig looked at Mattie after he dipped her in that theatrical kiss. Half-Sack might not have been conventionally smart, but he picked up on a lot of things that he didn't necessarily want to. The spark between Mattie and Tig, well, somebody'd have to be a real idiot not to notice that. Or very, very drunk, as Chibs had been yesterday.

"Hey, Lowell called me earlier. He needed me to swing by the garage to fill some more stuff out. Do you mind if we stop there after lunch?" Mattie asked, wiping a bit of mayo off the corner of her mouth.

"Nope. It'll give the paint a chance to dry a bit before I add another coat." He shook his head. "No offense, but you did a real number on the first try."

Mattie chuckled. "I know. Thought it would be a lot easier to get a paint roller across the walls, but I was pretty wrong."

"It's cool. Better than having to clean up the clubhouse, you know?"

"I can imagine. Spent a lot of time there when I was a kid, I know what it looks like after a while." Mattie picked up on his confused expression and elaborated with a slight sigh, "My dad was a Son. He passed a little while back."

"Sorry." Half-Sack didn't mean to make her uncomfortable, he just wanted to know the same story that all of the others seemed to already have memorized. "I'll shut up. I never know when to be quiet, the guys are always busting on me for my big mouth-"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure you're curious. I get it, I would be too. Probably not too often you get dispatched to a strange woman's house and ordered to paint."

"Jax told me not to ask too many questions, said you were private."

Mattie seemed to regard the statement with a bit of amusement. "I am. But I think you're pretty caught up now. I won't tell Jax, don't worry."

He matched her grin and motioned to her wrist. "I figured you were somebody important, you know, tattoo and all."

She scoffed at that. "I am not important at all. Just a girl that moved back home."

Half-Sack dropped the subject. It was nice to have somebody that was, well, nice to him for a change. It'd been a long time since he wasn't forced to tend bar until the early hours of dawn or plunge the overflowing toilet in the clubhouse. If it had been his design, he would've included more than one communal commode for all the grown men that shit in the place. Figuring out Mattie's story wasn't worth the trouble of souring the good mood she'd cultivated since their lunch began, Sack didn't press her. Talking to Gemma seemed to make the brunette more introspective than she'd been upon waking that morning, but somehow the Prospect had managed to elicit a real conversation from Mattie.

It got much quieter after that, and by the time that they headed outside, Half-Sack was worried that he'd upset her. Mattie was kind enough to buy him lunch and treat him with respect, and he'd ruined it with his curiosity. He was already looking forward to getting one more day away from the club to help her finish setting up the house, and now he was sure that she'd recommend that he stay away tomorrow. Watching her as she fastened herself into the passenger seat of the van- Jax had anticipated that Mattie would need to run some errands and encouraged the Prospect to take the automobile instead of a bike- the anxious feeling in his stomach bubbled over.

"Mattie?" He asked as they drove towards TM, a couple blocks after he'd gotten the nerve to talk to her again.

"Yeah?" It wasn't as annoyed as he would've thought. In fact, if anything, there was a tiny bit of concern coming across in her tone.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you know, asking all those questions. It's just that, I don't know, everybody knows who you are and I don't, and I always say something wrong. It gets me into trouble."

"Half-Sack, we're good. I don't mind it, really. If I don't want to answer you, trust me, I won't." Mattie sighed again, turning her gaze towards the window. "I actually like talking to you. You remind me of my younger brother."

"He associated with the MC?" Matilda seemed get more and more complicated the longer he talked with her.

"No, not at all. We're not very close. Our parents divorced when we were kids. Separate houses, separate lives. We talk on the phone a few times a year, and that's really it." By the clipped way she finished the statement, Half-Sack figured she didn't want to say more on the subject.

They chatted a bit more on the ride there, things that weren't quite so heavy. He informed Mattie that Donna had taken her home the night before- or rather Opie, if he remembered the drunken giggling coming from the pair of women. That seemed to set her at ease, as though the thought of being escorted home by anybody else was more embarrassing than she wanted to admit. Maybe that was her way of asking whether Tig had stayed at the club overnight. Half-Sack didn't think that Mattie was his old lady, he knew the Sergeant-at-Arms too well to believe that he'd want to be tied to a single woman, but he couldn't deny that Tig had claimed her in front of the entire club. It made him feel kind of bad for Mattie, that she wasn't allowed to be with any other man while Tig fucked whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Half-Sack wanted an old lady one day, but he would treat her right. He'd love her wholeheartedly.

Tigger couldn't love Mattie, because Half-Sack was pretty sure that the older man wasn't capable of any actual emotions beyond fury. He'd seen that particular sentiment enough times to know the truth.

At Teller-Morrow, Mattie's mood seemed to fire off into a dozen different directions, as though she couldn't decide upon just one. He didn't blame her, not really. There appeared to be some sort of uneasy history between her and the Sons of Anarchy, even if she didn't want to divulge the specifics to Half-Sack. Well, at least between Mattie and Tig. And her and Gemma. Everybody else seemed to regard Matt with happiness at her return. Especially Jackson and Bobby.

Although Half-Sack still had no idea what had gone on between Chibs and Matilda that made Tig so angry.

"There's Lowell. You should probably check in with Clay. They might need you for something." Mattie said, touching his arm to get his attention.

Half-Sack noticed the dent on her left ring finger then. That meant something, which maybe nobody else realized. Mattie had been married, or at least engaged before she came to Charming. Did Tig know that? Should he?

"Sure. Yeah." He nodded absentmindedly, just barely catching the furrow between her brows.

She wandered towards the mechanic, the two embracing in a friendly way. Another person that knew Mattie better than he did, Half-Sack mused, trying to keep a low profile as he meandered along. Bobby shouted something to him that he didn't understand, but somebody else momentarily distracted the Prospect.

Chibs was observing Mattie with a mixture of resentment and fascination, his expression eventually evolving into uncertainty. He should know better than to look at the brunette like that, but maybe he had little recollection of the black eye that had bloomed overnight. Whatever the Scot was doing, it made Half-Sack apprehensive. Why he felt that way, he couldn't say, he just knew that Chibs' attention wasn't appropriate. Tig made it very clear that Mattie wasn't available for the Scot's company. Or anybody else's, for that matter. It wasn't Half-Sack's place to warn Chibs, but he couldn't help feeling very conflicted.

"Hey, dumbass, your ears filled with shit?" Bobby's not-so-light tap against Half-Sack's forearm brought him into the present.

"I, uh, sorry, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You gettin' along with my niece? That girl's my heart and soul, you do something stupid, so help me…" He left off the rest of the threat.

Gulping, he responded with a very idiotic, "I like her a lot."

"Don't you even think about it, kid." Clay rumbled, walking into the garage, lifting the cigar from his lips. "Tigger will fuck you up nine ways from Sunday if he finds out you've got a little crush on Mattie."

"I don't, I mean- shit. Come on, guys. I know the rules. She's nice. Friendly. That's all I meant. We're cool."

Clay cocked his head in doubt. "Let that man," He pointed towards Chibs, "Be a lesson to you."

The President didn't have to worry about Half-Sack's safety. He planned to keep the friendly relationship he'd struck with Mattie as platonic as humanly possible if it kept Tig's wrath away. Besides, Mattie didn't give Half-Sack the vibe that there could be more between them. She'd practically called him her younger brother, and if that didn't put a dude into the friend zone, well, the Prospect didn't know what did anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I originally intended this to be two separate chapters, but then I figured that they should be posted together. I hope I did some justice to Half-Sack! I still kind of miss him. And as for the songs at the beginning of each chapter, well, I always listen to music while I write and before I go to bed, so I thought that I use that little bit of inspiration to set the tone. Hope they aren't too distracting. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave me a review let me know what you think of what's going on so far!**


	7. Chapter 7

_I've grown tired of holding this pose_

_I feel more like a stranger each time I come home_

_So I'm making a deal with the devils of fame_

_Sayin' let me walk away, please_

_You'll be free child once you have died_

_From the shackles of language and measurable time_

_And then we can trade places, play musical graves_

_Till then walk away walk away, walk away, walk away_

_So I'm up at dawn, putting on my shoes_

_I just want to make a clean escape_

_I'm leaving but I don't know where to_

_I know I'm leaving but I don't know where to_

_Landlocked Blues – Bright Eyes_

* * *

><p>"Really, Tigger, that's all you got?" Book Cardinal's voice rang out, laughter breaking up his words.<p>

"Shut up, old man. I'm taking it easy so I don't accidentally break your geriatric ass." Tig retorted, indignantly. "And your rights are getting sloppy."

"Mattie!" Book called out.

She lifted her eyes from the novel in her hands to see her father leaning through the ropes, looking down at her spot on the picnic bench. His shaggy ginger hair was dripping sweat, and Mattie pulled back, shooting him a look of mock disgust. Originally, she had stopped outside to say farewell to Book on her way home, but somehow she'd gotten tricked into staying to watch him and Tig spar before their big fight later that night. Which meant that Mattie had to play referee when a disagreement like the one in question came about.

"Your rights are sloppy. But Tig can't block worth shit on the left, so it tightening up your punches probably won't make a difference unless you'd like to beat him faster than usual." Mattie proclaimed, trying to figure out where she left off on her page.

"That's bull. She ain't even watching us."

Book just laughed again, "Just pissed 'cause you're on the losing end."

"Not losing. Just give me a head's up when you need to go inside and change your adult diaper."

The two men continued to bicker back and forth as Mattie went back to her book. She should be doing her math homework if she was going to be wasting time like this, but after wrestling one problem, the textbook had promptly been traded in for the paperback Mattie was currently working through. Fifteen more minutes and she'd go home, for real this time. Donna said something about getting drunk while Jax and Opie were busy with the club, which sounded great, if Mattie decided not to think about the lab report and two essays she needed to type up over the weekend. Why did she have to be the only one of her friends still in high school? Donna graduated last year, Jax and Opie managed the year before that. It was Mattie's senior year though, and she needed to stay on top of things if she wanted to get into a decent college. Plus, she wasn't the kind of girl to skip out on her homework. Blame Book for that.

_If I ever find out you ain't doing your schoolwork, I will make sure that Gemma gets your ass in line. And I guaran-fucking-tee you, it won't be fun, darlin'. _Not many parents would have other parents discipline their children, but that just meant that they didn't have Gemma Teller at their disposal. Gemma Teller-Morrow. Mattie hadn't gotten used to that hyphen, even three years later.

"Book! Phone call!" The Queen in question shouted from the clubhouse door.

"Who is it?"

"Your goddamned ex-wife is bitching my ear off, so you better get out of that ring and talk to her, asshole!"

Her father climbed to the pavement, picking up a sweatshirt bundled on one of the benches and throwing it over his head before saying something that sounded very much like, "Jesus fucking Christ." Mattie figured that sentiment was about right for whatever her mother wanted. Reese Cardinal didn't call unless she wanted something, or George wanted something, and whatever it was, it usually ended up being expensive. Last time had involved getting her Suburban's brakes redone by TM Automotive- the repairs performed gratis by Book. Or the time before that, when she wanted the garage to sponsor George's football team. Gemma shot that shit down. _You ain't part of our family anymore, Reese, and you're sure as hell not entitled to any of the club's goodwill._ Mattie had been quite pleased with that outcome.

Tig hovered above Mattie, wiping his face with a ratty towel, before tossing it aside and sitting down, the damp smell of sweat and body odor making Mattie wrinkle her nose, just a little. One would've thought that being raised amongst a bunch of outlaw bikers might've dulled her reaction to unpleasant scents. But Tig didn't seem to notice her discomfort as he knocked her gently with his elbow, trying to get her attention.

"Wha'cha reading?" He asked, squinting his eyes through the slowly dulling evening light.

"A book."

"Very funny. Which book?"

"The kind with words." She retorted, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. Mattie always thought that man like Tig should have a much darker gaze, instead of that dazzling azure he'd been gifted with.

"You are such a smart ass. Just like your pop." Tig let one of his warm hands rest on her knee, the fingers rubbing gentle circles through the denim. Inappropriate circles that Mattie should stop. "_A Clockwork Orange_. Haven't read it."

Another person plopped on Mattie's right side, but Tig didn't retract his touch. "Yeah, but in order to read, you'd have to be literate." Jax snorted derisively.

He looped a protective arm around Mattie's shoulders, pulling her away from Tigger. At least it was better than him moping about Tara. She'd left Charming in September, and Jax's mood had not improved much since then. The pained expression he carried never smoothed. Mattie wanted the old Jax back, the one that horsed around with her, the one that made her laugh like nobody else could. But Tara ruined him, and Mattie wasn't sure he'd ever be the same.

"Oh, and you've read it, pretty boy?" Tig shot back, running a hand through his sodden hair.

"Yeah, I have. I actually gave her this very book."

"Wow. Princely and intelligent. You must beat the girls away with a stick."

"No, Tigger, you're the only one beating any women."

The two men exchanged a look, before Jax stood, taking one of Mattie's hands. Warning her to be good around Tig, because from the moment that she turned into a teenager, Jackson was worried that she was going to run off with the first man that paid her any attention. David Hale he'd let slide, mostly because he knew that the judge's son was pretty much harmless, plus, it wasn't like they were still dating anyway. The moment David set foot in a college campus, his romance with Mattie ended. But it didn't affect her like Tara affected Jax. Maybe there was something wrong with Mattie. Yeah, she'd felt like shit at first, and then it just went away. There was nothing. Just guilt at feeling so goddamned normal. Guilt and fear. Fear that somehow, Mattie was turning into her mother, turning into Reese. What if, one day, she ended up heartless too?

"I gotta go with Opie and run a couple club errands. You hangin' with Donna tonight?" Jax asked.

"Maybe. I have a lot of work to do, and it is Friday night. Might stay for a while to watch Dad fight and then head over to the Lerner's."

Jax raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Be good. If you're still here, with him, when I get back, I'm gonna kick your ass, Matt."

Like he needed to tell her twice. Everybody warned her about Tig, how he was one of the Sons that she shouldn't spend alone time with. Mattie had never really felt like he was the predator and she was the prey, but she'd heard the stories. The croweaters were the chattiest bitches, trading tales of the allegedly big-dicked Tig back and forth, about his strange tastes and voracious sexual appetite. Those women weren't the most quiet when the congregated at Teller-Morrow, marking off a little spot as their own when they'd gossip before the parties started. And Mattie had walked in on Tig getting his jollies off inside the club more than once, usually against the pool table or on top of the bar. That sort of exhibition wasn't her thing, so Jax didn't have anything to worry about.

But she wouldn't lie. There was something… sexy about Tigger, something dangerous that Mattie didn't particularly understand. She wasn't stupid, though, and she'd never actually try anything. The man at Mattie's side had to be more than fifteen years her senior, and he was one of her father's brothers. They both had the words _off limits_ stamped on their foreheads. And she doubted that Tig found her attractive, especially when he had all those other girls at his beck and call. She didn't have that _I'm a naughty vixen please fuck me_ attitude, or a fake tan and overly inflated tits. And she wasn't blonde or Latina, either of which was Tig's type of choice. So, Mattie didn't really think Jax had anything to worry about. There was a line drawn in the sand between her and Tigger, one that neither had the least bit of interest in crossing any time soon.

Plus, she didn't plan on staying in Charming for the rest of her life. Mattie needed to get away, just for a little bit, and see what lay outside the town's boundaries. She had three schools she was interested in, UC Berkeley, NYU and the University of Notre Dame. Mattie's heart was pointing her towards NYU, in the same city her father lived before relocating to California. Where her grandparents, the ones she never met, had lived. Before Mattie as born, Grandma Maggie lost her life to heart disease, Grandpa Ethan, well, he'd been dead long before that. Two slugs in the back of the head kind of did to a person. She supposed that was what happened when you worked for the Irish mob, piss off the wrong people and end up on a swift ride to hell. That was right about the time that Book left, figuring that it'd be easier to live straight than end up like his father. But then he found the Sons of Anarchy, and the rest was history. Book liked to joke that Mattie was pretty much born a criminal. First Cardinal in three generations that didn't kill on command. Progress, her father teased, that was progress.

Mattie needed to explore her options; ones that didn't involved illegal activities. She didn't want to abandon Charming forever, but she needed to be free, for a little while. There were so many responsibilities, so many expectations. Book thought she'd be a part of the club for the rest of her life, and was constantly trying to introduce her to the prospect of the week. Trying to chain her down before her life really started. Her father was just worried about her leaving the nest, Gemma said, and the fear that Mattie might be a whole plane ride away was freaking him out. But Mattie would never choose to be an old lady, to be attached to a Son. If a woman wasn't strong enough, the role would destroy her. She'd seen the damage time and time again. Reese, Mary Winston, Colleen Trager, Christ, all of Bobby's wives. Mattie was not going to add herself to that long list of failures.

"I'll be out of here by eight. Promise." Mattie replied, leaning in as Jax kissed her cheek.

"Good. Love you." He murmured before sauntering away, leaving Tig and Mattie alone again.

A small voice in the back of her told her to make some excuse to leave, say something about checking on Gemma in the office. It was now too dark to read outside, even if the dim lights above the ring had been switched on. Normally, nobody left Mattie with Tiger without a chaperone, because he was the only Son that didn't think in terms of age limits and appropriateness. She had no doubts that if things ever got more than flirtatious between her and Tig, Book or Bobby would flay them both alive. Mattie first, because she was supposed to be the smart one, but Tig would not have a hide for very long.

As if reading her thoughts, Tig asked, "When do you turn eighteen?"

"For you? Never." Mattie chimed, grinning.

"Such a snot, just like the Prince. Maybe I should start calling you the Princess, since that's where you're headed towards."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That you and Jackson are destined to be together. The first son with the first daughter. It's what we've been waiting for since that Tara bitch hit the road." That answer was not the one she was expecting.

"That's disgusting. Jax and I are like brother and sister. I would never, ever-" Mattie took a quick breath in order to groan, "be with him like that. And I'm seventeen. I'm not looking to settle down any time soon."

"Good to know. Just making sure that one of the sexiest girls in SAMCRO isn't entertaining my competition." He drawled slowly, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You're very cute." Mattie said, hopping down from her seat. "And you're very sweet to go boosting my confidence, but why don't you go play with one of your big-boobed barbies instead of bothering me?"

She walked away before Tig had the chance to say anything else, heading towards the TM office. It was the second Friday of the month, which meant that Gemma was going to pay her for helping out at the garage after school. Mattie was in charge of filing paperwork and charging credit cards, and while it was mostly boring work, Gemma paid her pretty well. Combined with the money Mattie made babysitting for the club, well, she had a decent stash hidden at home. Which would definitely come in handy when she left for college.

Hopefully, by the time that Mattie needed to go back to the clubhouse, Tig would be occupied. It was one thing for him to flirt; it was another for him to tease her. Mattie was smart, she was funny, but she was definitely not sexy. It wasn't her intention to be. Reese was beautiful, but she was also a vapid, materialistic whore. Mattie was not going to end up like her mother, depending on a man to support her, a man that chose her for her looks. Book once admitted that was how he'd ended up with Reese, she was at the club one night and she was gorgeous, which led to her getting pregnant with Mattie not two months after they met. Mattie's life was not going to turn out like that. She was going to make good decisions. Ones that didn't factor in how attractive or unattractive she might be.

Somehow though, Mattie had ended up with Reese's figure, but it would've been more impressive if she was as rail thin as her mother. She'd ended up a bit curvier than Mommy Dearest, and it irritated the shit out of Mattie. Donna insisted that she was crazy for covering up with that red sweatshirt all the time. It was like a safety blanket, the soft cotton reassuring whenever Mattie lifted it over her shoulders. Hiding all her imperfections, dulling the features that she didn't want to be known for. Once, during gym, when she was forced to change into a uniform that included shorts and fitted t-shirt, a kid remarked that he didn't know that perfect Matilda Cardinal had such nice tits. She swung her lacrosse stick into his face- everybody insisted it was accidental-and gave him a bloody nose. And didn't go to P.E. without her trademark sweatshirt thrown overtop the gym clothes after that.

"You're the most patient kid I know," Gemma greeted when Mattie knocked the open door, "Because Jax wouldn't have waited so long to collect his paycheck."

She shrugged in response. "Lost track of time, I guess."

After Mattie signed for her check- TM Automotive was kept as legitimate as possible, she even needed to get working papers in order to help in the office- Gemma gestured for her to shut off the computer while she filed away the pay stubs. "Gonna stay tonight, baby? Heard your dad and Tigger are going to have quite the showdown."

"I might. Already saw the preliminaries, and it doesn't look very good for Tig." Mattie wasn't just saying that because Book was her father, but because he was actually a much better fighter than Tigger. Tig had long arms and legs, but other than that, he didn't have a whole lot of strategy or talent to go along with his loose fists.

Gemma seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Yeah, but should be entertaining to watch the big bastard get his ass beat. Plus, I saw you two… _talking_."

She didn't like the way the older woman put so much emphasis on that final word. "Yeah. We were talking. Or maybe I was being harassed, I'm not sure what the distinction is when Tig's involved."

"Oh, baby, there's not really a difference. Don't let the asshole bother you. Come on, let's grab something to eat before we settle in to watch." Gemma rubbed the spot between Mattie's shoulders before escorting her out.

After grabbing burgers and some salad- all made by Bobby, who was sweating behind the grill, juggling a spatula and a beer in the same hand- Mattie took her spot on same picnic bench she'd occupied before, this time with Gemma by her side. The Queen was in a remarkably good mood, one that started a month ago when Tara left and had only gotten better as Jax got more and more involved with the club. She only wished that Jax would emulate his mother's sunny disposition. And that was not a phrase that Mattie used in association with Gemma Teller-Morrow very often.

Cheers broke out as Book walked outside, his slender, pale but very freckled frame wading through the crowd until he reached Mattie. He'd finally decided to pull his ginger mop back into a ponytail, although the look emphasized his rapidly shrinking hairline. Mattie didn't think he really cared, so long as he had some of that trademark orange left on his head.

"Come on, my corner. Let's go." He demanded, ignoring the fact that Mattie had barely sunk her teeth into the cheeseburger on her plate. "Sorry, Gem, need my good luck charm."

"Sure, go ahead, take my last kid away." Gemma joked, although there was a look in her eyes that proclaimed that her statement had more truth than she would admit.

Mattie took her father's hand, the pair passing through the applause and the jeering, depending on which fighter the spectator had laid his bet for the night. If Mattie was allowed to lay any money down- and she wasn't, Bobby said, because betting ain't no game for a girl to be playin'- hers would definitely be on Book, just because of his high spirits. She re-taped his knuckles, a pre-fight tradition that they never skipped on, both of them waiting for Tig to make his entrance. When he finally did, with Kyle Hobart by his side, well, Mattie wasn't sure who was more excited for the match to start, her or Book. Mattie climbed onto the corner furthest away from all the picnic bench seating, holding Book's water bottle in one hand and the ropes in the other. The two Sons both scurried inside the ring, and Clay meandered over, cigar between his lips, smiling at the two men. He acknowledged Mattie lurking in her usual spot, sharing a knowing little grin with her, which said that they both knew exactly who was going to win, even if Tigger was Clay's right hand.

"Okay, men, we all know the rules, first man to fall loses. No tricks, no biting-" Clay looked directly at Tig for that one, "just a clean fight. Otto Delaney was elected tonight's referee, so let the ass-kicking begin."

Roars filled the space under the clubhouse's overhang, and Book and Tig each took a tentative step towards one another, seeing who was going to strike first. Mattie knew that for her father, this part was just a game. He didn't need to feel Tigger out, didn't need to analyze the way that Tig's eyes sparkled with bloodlust. That was the Sergeant-at-Arm's mistake. Never, ever, let your opponent know that you _need_ the win. Book Cardinal always told his daughter to play it close to the vest, because when you let other people know that you need something, well, they have the advantage. Guarding your emotions was just as important as guarding your face. And Tig was doing neither.

Swinging lazily, Tigger tossed his right fist towards Book, the blow glancing off his bicep. It was just a test, to check the distance between them. It made her father smirk; wordlessly asking _that's all you got?_ Book threw a left into Tig's ribs; let the force of the strike ripple through his torso before backing it up with a right jab in his stomach. Probably could've hit him harder, should've hit him harder, but just showing Tig was he was in for. _You might be younger than me, be the President's go-to-guy, but you ain't the tough little shit you think you are_, _not really._ Mattie could read her father's expression, cool, cocky, seemingly unruffled. But venom filled his more green eyes, Matt not sure what triggered the anger. Book had been his normal, happy-go-lucky self only a moments ago.

Tigger took a second to glance upwards, his gaze connecting with Mattie's for a split second. Too quickly for her to analyze what he might be thinking, but just enough of a distraction for Book to deck him with a quick right-left-right combo, Tig propelled himself backwards, into the ropes opposite Mattie's corner. Bad choice for the Sergeant-at-Arms, but he already seemed to know that, scrambling to get his footing. Jesus, not even two minutes in and Book already had him trapped. Clay liked to say that when his enforcer was in the ring, there was such no such thing as being stuck between a rock and a hard place; there was a corner and Book Cardinal's fists.

Her father caught Tig in the jaw, a quick move that made even Mattie's teeth ache. Then she saw it. The opening she'd been looking for since the match began, something that she'd been taught from a very young age to recognize. Because she was Book's good luck charm for a reason.

"Now! Use it now!" Mattie cried, doing her best to be heard above everyone else. Book nodded, almost imperceptibly, and that's when it happened.

The left hook. Total and guaranteed knock out.

Tig's demise happened immediately, his tall frame colliding with the mat so quickly that a gasp echoed over the crowd- even if it was what they were all expecting anyway. Book smirked, letting Otto raise his arm above his head to signify the victory. Tigger would probably think a little harder the next time he got into the ring with Book Cardinal.

Otto brushed by Mattie to tell her that she'd done a good job on his way to see Luann, which he always did when he refereed. He acted like Book and his daughter were a kind of tag team, as though Book just threw the punches and Mattie directed where they landed. She accepted his congratulations, waiting for her father to head over. But he was still hanging above Tig, watching as the younger man tried to stumble to his feet after getting his ass handed to him, not bothering to lend a hand.

"Come here, Matt." Book called, waving her over.

Confused, she stepped inside the ring, hoping that most of the spectators had gone inside or were already focused on something else. Mattie was already pressing her luck by hanging so close to the boxing, but if her father thought it was alright, then she wasn't going to argue. Letting Book scoop her under his sweaty arm, Mattie directed her attention down to Tig, who was still gasping for breath.

"Now, you listen to me, asshole. My daughter ain't an option for you. You touch her again, you look at her like she is just another piece of ass, and I will _hurt_ you. I will _destroy_ you, Tigger. Ain't a warning, ain't a threat, it's a motherfucking promise." Book's tone was dangerously low, "Next time you want to fondle a seventeen-year-old girl, make sure that Jax isn't around to see it."

Book carefully pushed Mattie back onto solid ground, and she watched the two men. Jackson must've told him about Tig's hand on her knee before he left to go run club errands with Opie. Of course, Jax causing unnecessary drama. What else was new? And using Book to in order prove a point to Tig? That boy was crafty.

Or he just wanted to make both Tig and Mattie's lives more difficult.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So this is the first of many chapters of the back-story I promised, and I hope it didn't disappoint. Next chapter will be back to present day, but I'm probably going to keep throwing flashbacks in every so often. I already have one and a half written that I'm pretty happy with, but I want to get back to the main focus first. Anyway, I don't know if I'll have time to post another chapter before Christmas, but I will do my best to try. Thank you so much for reading and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Sing me something soft,_

_Sad and delicate,_

_Or loud and out of key,_

_Sing me anything,_

_We're glad for what we've got,_

_Done with what we've lost_

_Our whole lives laid out right in front of us_

_Existentialism on Prom Night – Straylight Run_

* * *

><p>When Mattie answered the door in a flowing silk robe that hugged every curve that David Hale lustily remembered cascading down her body, there seemed to be the distinct possibility that she was interpreting his invitation to dinner as something less than platonic. Why else had he been waiting for the past twenty minutes for Mattie to descend downstairs and finally grace him with her presence? Because he was hopeless, that's why- David had a pretty decent understanding of the twisted relationship she had with Tig, and why it implied that the cop and the brunette could never be anything more than friends. But it had been six years for everyone, even Tig Trager, and maybe that meant that Matilda was finally putting some emotional distance between herself and the club.<p>

When she finally did appear, grinning in a self-conscious way that made David blush as well. Mattie was lovely; he couldn't disagree with that, but she always seemed to be embarrassed by the notion. When they were younger, she was always covering up with that red sweatshirt of hers, using the boxy shape to mask the hourglass figure that her floral dress now complimented. Maybe it was because of the way her mother used to dress, always barely covered in tube tops and short-shorts. David hadn't many memories of Reese Cardinal, but most of them were centered around her daughter's mortification concerning her choice of clothing. Matilda actually looked a lot like her mother, not that he would ruin the evening by telling her that. She had the same essential shape, plus full cheeks and pouting lips that made any man's mind go immediately dirty. Mattie's eyes, emerald with a bronze ring around her pupils, were definitely her father's, however, as was her self-possessed nature. She'd told David once that all her important genetics were inherited from Book.

Mattie turned off the television with a flick of a remote, brushing past him to pick up the tiny little gold purse that sat on the coffee table. Her hair flicked across his jaw as she bent down, the smell of her tropical scented shampoo catching his attention so instantaneously that David was instantly more aware of what they were about to do. It had been nearly twelve years since their last date, fourteen since their first.

When he fell for Mattie at sixteen, the situation had seemed so strange. She was a girl that he'd known for practically his whole life, and all of a sudden his palms would start to sweat, his words would get as far as his throat and then stick. David had only gone out with one other girl- Tara Knowles- and he hadn't reacted that way. But he was nervous and awkward around Mattie, always embarrassed by himself. Until one evening, when they were sitting on her porch, and she turned her head towards him and smiled. _Just do it already_, Mattie sighed, and when he blinked in confusion, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He remembered feeling stupid and ecstatic, but from that day, they were Mattie and David. A package. High school sweethearts. He was the son of one of Charming's most respected citizens, she was the daughter of one of its least, but it never seemed to matter. Not to them, anyway.

Their relationship had been effortless and fun, until David graduated. Mattie still had two more years of school to finish before she'd go off to college, but neither of them thought that the geographical distance would make much of a difference. Until his father issued him an ultimatum. _Either you choose the girl, or you choose yourself. End things with her and I'll keep paying for school. Keep it up with the little biker whore and you're on your own, Davie. Are you really willing to throw you life away for that delinquent? _Mattie wasn't any of those things; she was hard working, smart, and a talented pianist. But Judge Hale didn't see any of those things, he saw her father and her uncle, he saw her two best friends.

The Hales were too established of a family to be associating with the town thugs, Jacob would say. His brother had never liked Mattie, and David never knew why, but it was yet another opinion trying to pull him away from her. There were no right decisions, but David ended up choosing his family over her. He tried his best to make it quick and painless, blaming it on being away at school, but all these years later, it still felt wrong. He'd been in love with Mattie. And then he'd left and she fell in love with somebody else. David couldn't say that he didn't expect it, but he'd always kind of thought that one day they'd end up together again. Obviously not.

David Hale didn't think that she'd ever take him up n his offer to go out to dinner, but here he was, waiting for her to finish getting ready before they headed out the door. Matilda was so close to him as she threw an eggplant-colored cardigan over her feminine dress. The material of which was light and gauzy and David wanted so badly just to run his fingers over the fabric and her skin, in a way that he'd hadn't done for a very, very long time.

It was times like those that he needed to remind himself that Matilda was not in love with him anymore. They'd had their shot eleven years ago, and then for the briefest moment when she was a lonely co-ed at Berkeley, and neither opportunity had ever worked in David's favor. This was a dinner between two people who had once been old friends. This was dinner with a woman with completely different set of morals and beliefs, ones that he didn't necessarily share.

He drove to the restaurant, a little place just outside Lodi. Another cop had recommended it to David, saying that food was served on normally sized dinner plates, but refined enough for a woman that drove a Mercedes. The menu seemed to please her, as did the Jack and coke the waiter brought over. Maybe David didn't have to be so nervous that he was going to disappoint her. She hung around with a group of bikers until she was twenty-one, and the time spent with New York society didn't appear to change anything other than her wardrobe. Sighing as quietly as he could manage, David began what he knew would eventually become a torturous conversation. If Matilda Cardinal didn't want to answer a question, she wouldn't, but that didn't mean David wouldn't try again until she did.

"Christ, I don't even know where to start, Matt." He admitted, taking a sip of his beer.

She shrugged. "Wherever you want. Just be careful, I might have inquiries of my own, Chief."

"Deputy Chief." David corrected automatically, which made her chuckle over the stuffed mushroom appetizer that they were supposed to be sharing. In his nervousness, he'd already had more than half, but Mattie didn't seem to mind.

"Sorry. Honestly, I can't believe you're not married. I expected there to be at least a dozen baby Hales running around Charming. You must be the most eligible bachelor in the whole town." It was not an attempt at flirting, but rather an effort to steer the conversation down an alley that suited her. David would not be derailed so easily.

"And I can't believe that you were Mrs. Muldoon. According to your vehicle registration at least." He countered. "I'm married to my badge. Simplest answer."

"How close did you come?" Mattie asked with a knowing smile. "My marriage existed only on paper. I changed the wedding date at least four times. Almost sent out invitations the last time."

"Christine McKenzie and I were engaged for a year, but I don't know, it didn't seem like the right thing to do at the time." Christine had been in the grade above Mattie, a pretty, well meaning girl that he'd gone out with between Tara and Mattie.

"I bet your dad wasn't happy. Is Jacob still with- what's her name? Marlene? Didn't they have a son?"

"No. They got divorced, jeez, three years ago? And yes, Jacob Jr. Which means that Judge Hale's legacy will continue, even if I don't manage to contribute." He bitterly stated, annoyed that Mattie had elicited more information than she divulged.

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but I always thought your father was kind of an asshole. And you know that I loathe your brother. If it means anything, you're the only decent Hale left in Charming." She looked down at her nearly empty tumbler. "I'm really sorry about your mom. I wish that I had known. She was an amazing woman."

David was surprised as she put her small hand over his, twining their fingers together. "Thanks, Mattie. She loved you."

Rebecca Hale might not have such a heavy hand in raising Matilda as Gemma Teller-Morrow, but Matt spent enough time in their home as little girl that David knew she had a spot in her heart for his mother. She'd babysat Mattie more times that he could count when Reese decided to run off for an afternoon or two, and always invited her to every Hale family gathering. If it had been up to Rebecca, Mattie would've married David the instant she turned eighteen. His father definitely had opposite ideas, and as the pair grew older, he unsuccessfully pushed them as far away from one another as he could, at least not until he had enough leverage to twist David's arm. The daughter of a Son was not good enough for his son. Rebecca never agreed, but by the time that Mattie's father went to jail for that half-year stint, it was Gemma's home that she'd ended up living in, not Rebecca's.

Their entrees arrived, her ribeye and his petit filet, a couple sides set between them to share. The food really was good; he'd have to remember to thank Jenkins when he went in on Monday morning.

"What did you finally decide to do, you know, for a career? I remember that you were choosing between a couple different things."

Mattie pursed her lips before answering, as though the action would give her enough time to phrase a response. "I got my law degree from Columbia, worked for a practice in the city. One of Patrick's old friends was a partner. They specialized- I specialized- in family law, so divorces and custody battles mostly. You want to be instantly depressed, try representing a mom that wants nothing more than to take her kids away from her ex-husband, just because she's a spiteful bitch. And what also put a lot of pep in my step was demanding alimony from a woman that had just been laid off from her finance job."

"So-"

"I made the wrong fucking choice," Mattie finished with a sullen little laugh, "Guess it's not really a local kid made good story after all."

David nodded, slowly comprehending why she decided to come back to Charming. She'd had such grand ideas about a life outside of the little town, fantasies that seemed real to even him as she explained them all those years ago. Before she left, he'd never met Patrick, but David thought that he was just a clean-cut replacement of Tig. Older man, good at his job, able to take care of her, even if Patrick's profession was much more legal than Tig's. Mattie wanted to be a lawyer to right wrongs, only to find out that the victor was whoever had the most money. The same disillusions that brought Matilda to New York City took her back home once she made the painful realization that no matter how hard a person dreamed, how much she wanted that perfect life with who she thought was the perfect man while working the perfect job, life was not so kind.

He understood that very well. David did not marry Christine McKenzie because she was neither Tara nor Matilda. It was easier, for him at least, to be alone than be constantly faced with the reality that things did not work out the way he wanted. However, he very much doubted that Mattie, as isolated as she portrayed herself, could bear to stay away from the man who'd broken her heart into so many pieces that David was sure that she never recovered. Mattie might no longer be attracted to David in the way he wanted, but he did not think that she did so much emotional damage to him.

"I saw the piano at your house. Thinking about getting back into it?" He asked when the silence had gotten too heavy.

"Maybe. Mostly for myself. I'm too old to join an orchestra or anything like that. Missed my time, I guess."

"Couldn't you take advantage of the music ed degree? Maybe one of the schools needs a chorus teacher or something. Give you a chance to get out of the house during the day, at least."

"And how exactly would I explain the last three years that I spent working for a law firm?" Mattie raised an eyebrow in an amused way. "I'm not even completely settled in yet. I keep getting this completely ridiculous nagging feeling that I've forgotten to do something important. I haven't, I know I haven't, but it won't go away."

"It'll go away as time goes on." He reassured, patting the back of her hand. "Moving across the country has to be incredibly stressful. You've only been here in Charming, what, not even three weeks?"

"Yeah. I mean, all the furniture's been delivered, the kitchen is complete, I finally was able to get Willow from the kennel." She ticked off the actions on her fingers. "I just don't know."

"Is Willow the horse that greeted me when I first walked in?" David teased, hoping that it would distract Mattie from whatever was bothering her, just for the moment.

"Willow is a Saint Bernard, thank you very much. Sometimes I wish that I'd somehow convinced Patrick to buy me a pony, just because I wouldn't have to chase after her with a towel to wipe her drool."

"Dog, horse, same difference when you have an animal that large."

"Should I get a permit for her, officer?" Mattie joked. "Considering that she's such a vicious animal."

"Naw. Don't think that would be necessary. Besides, she's a lot friendlier than you."

"Haha. You're very cute." She wrinkled her nose. "I've been on my best behavior."

"I noticed. I thought things would be awkward, or I guess, more awkward."

Mattie tilted her head, catching his gaze. "You're one of the few people that I trust outside of the Sons. Implicitly. I know I'm not good at being open, and we haven't spoken for years, but shit, David. You've saved me more times than I would care to count, and that means everything to me."

"Yeah, but not from what I should've-" He began to argue, stopping when she held up one hand.

"I told you. That wasn't your fault. You were the only thing that kept me together."

By the time that David drove her home, he could still feel the wedge that had been driven between them, but it seemed to be much more transparent. The more they both acknowledged their differences, the easier the conversation flowed. Mattie was never wholly honest, of that he was sure, but she didn't hold back with him as much as he remembered. Maybe life outside of the Sons of Anarchy had softened her to regular society.

David walked with her to her front door, his hand winding up somewhere in the small of her back. It made her uncomfortable, he could feel the tension as she tried her best to press away from his fingertips, but she didn't ask him to remove them either. Once she successfully unlocked the door, Mattie turned to him, her features awash in hesitation. Yeah, he didn't know what to do either.

"So… Was this a date?" He asked suddenly, waiting for her to scoff.

"I don't know. It's been a long time." That was not an answer.

"You know why I'm asking, right?"

"Yeah, I do, and I don't know, David. You have a lot at stake this time around. And I'm not sixteen. I just don't have those feelings anymore."

Her words stung a bit, but she was right. He was going to be Chief soon, and he had no doubts that she'd never be able to remove herself from the Sons of Anarchy. The MC that he had every intention of running out of Charming. David sighed, looking back into her hazel eyes.

"I know."

He kissed her anyway, their lips catching for precious seconds, if only because it was something he hadn't done for such a long time. Her mouth was soft, like he remembered, the planes of her cheekbones fitting perfectly against his thumbs as he raised her face to his. Mattie didn't fight him. That was good. It meant that maybe; just maybe, she wasn't as attached to Tig as he feared. Pulling away, David tried his best to memorize the way that she felt; their chests pressed together, how her lips tasted faintly of alcohol, the way that she smelled so feminine and sweet. The action surprised her as much as he hoped, leaving her stunned as he descended back down her porch steps.

David knew full well that Mattie wouldn't fall for him again. Perhaps that was his way of making the transition from awkward ex-high school sweetheart to newfound friend.

Or maybe, he just wanted to give her something to think about.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, so I know there was no Tig in this chapter. But it sets things up for later, and helps to explain some things that happened in the past. And I'm thinking of posting the next chapter, which is a long-ish two parter that Tig does appear in. The way I see it, he and Mattie can't spend all their time together, right? Anyhow, please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

_It seems that all my bridges have been burned,_

_But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works_

_It's not the long walk home that will change this heart,_

_But the welcome I receive with the restart_

_Roll Away Your Stone – Mumford and Sons_

* * *

><p>It was just before noon on a Wednesday that Mattie swallowed all her nerves and met Jackson at Teller-Morrow. He'd been going on for a couple days about her swinging by the garage- his excuse was that he wanted to check something on her car, but she knew better than to believe his terrible lie- and she'd managed to avoid the invitation until then. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Jax Teller, it was just that… well, there were plenty of other people that she still wanted to avoid.<p>

Mattie still didn't know what to do about Tig. He'd kissed her at the party, so deeply and gorgeously that she almost forgot that it was just him asserting his dominance. Marking Mattie as _his_, despite the fact that they weren't together. Tig had always been possessive, protective even, but he'd crossed a line. Mattie wasn't a plaything, he either wanted her or he didn't, and if he didn't, then he needed to let her go. She couldn't handle the yo-yo back and forth. Not if the uncomfortable feeling in her chest was a whole bundle of unresolved feelings that his lips managed to disturb. Tigger had become a mystery to Matt, and she had no idea if he detested or loved her. She wasn't betting on affection, though. Mattie had always been more invested in Tigger than he was in her.

And there was Chibs. She didn't know what he said to Tig to make him react so violently, and if he hadn't kissed her afterwards then she wouldn't have ever dreamed that it had anything to do with her. Chibs had expressed a flirtatious interest in Mattie- that kiss he placed on her palm both intrigued and scared the shit out of her- and that was her best guess as to the cause of Tigger's explosion. Or maybe it was something else, completely unrelated to Mattie. She hoped that was the case, because if there was one thing that she despised, it was being the center of attention. That was always more Jax's bag of tricks.

Half-Sack was sweeping as she walked up, and he stopped to greet her. He really did remind her of George; so similar to the clueless younger brother Mattie hardly ever spoke with. She'd missed his graduation from USC, not that Reese had either bothered to invite or inform her about the event beforehand. His football scholarship was what took him to college, considering that George had little to no practical intelligence. No, that was harsher than she meant. He was smart, in his own way, just not in a conventional, measurable manner. Kind of like Half-Sack.

"Hey! House working out good?" The scruffy blonde grinned dopily, propping his arm up on the broom.

"Very well, thanks to you. I couldn't have done it by myself. Sanely, at least." Mattie replied, matching his smile.

"Cool, cool," His expression faltered, that bright smirk descending into a grimace. She wondered what exactly had changed his mood so quickly. Maybe he just didn't have anything else to say.

"Baby." Tig's voice was low, the word pulled apart by the tone of seduction he'd inserted in between the two syllables.

"Hey, Tig, I was, uh, you know, just checking up on Mattie. Matilda." Half-Sack stuttered frantically.

Tigger placed a kiss on Mattie's neck, his facial scruff on the sensitive skin making her entire body flush with longing. It'd been a long time since they'd been together, and that absence was starting to ache, especially between her legs. Having sex with Tig was much different than with Patrick. Patrick was clinically, his techniques perfectly fine, if not a little boring. Tigger... well, Mattie never knew what to expect, but she always knew it was going to be good. Real good. She was trying to hide her lusty thoughts, but couldn't help the hand that she crumpled into his cut, a tic that she still was having trouble shaking. Mattie didn't like to do it, didn't like to Tig to know that she wanted him close, but she couldn't get rid of the compulsion.

Sensing her desire, he lingered there for a moment, pressing her backwards until her ass was pressed against the wall of toolboxes. Tig's hips pinned Mattie in there, his hard on nestled in the curve of her stomach, a proud little reminder of how little provocation he needed. Flicking his ice blue gaze downwards, Tigger arched an eyebrow. _Wanna?_ Mattie did, but that was besides the point. Not in broad daylight in the middle of the garage with mechanics milling about. She also did not want to do an afternoon walk of shame through the clubhouse. So she just wrinkled her nose in reply. _I'll take a rain check_. Tigger shrugged and smirked knowingly. Mattie was starting to wonder just how long her resolve would last.

"Good mornin' doll." Another kiss, on the corner of her mouth. Slow, deliberate, almost sweet. Tempting Mattie to change her mind. "And you, Grunt, stop staring and get back to work."

Despite her desire, Mattie was apprehensive. This was just another way to show the men at the garage that she belonged to Tigger. An opportunity to show off how big his dick was. But it wasn't the right time or place to point out his little routine. There weren't enough daisy petals in the world for all the he-loves-me/he-loves-me-nots Mattie needed to do in order to figure out their relationship. Tig was too up and down for that bullshit.

"It's nearly noon, Tigger."

He pretended to glance at a watch. "Guess you're right. What's with the trip out here?"

"Jax wanted to see me."

"And here I thought that my girl came around for some alone time with me." He took her hand and placed it on his chest. "You're breaking my heart."

"Sorry, love." Mattie rubbed Tig's pec absentmindedly, still thinking about how badly she wanted to jump him and how awful that made her feel. "You know what it's like when the prince calls. If he says jump, you jump."

It was probably wrong to use Tig's dislike of Jax to her advantage, but it seemed to soften the man at her side. "He's in the office. Hey, I gotta take care of a few things, but are you going to be home later?"

She raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yeah, should be." Mattie glanced over at Half-Sack, who was concentrating so fully on sweeping the shop floor and not their conversation that he deserved a medal. "You okay?"

"Great." He sighed, raking a hand through his disheveled curls. "I'll tell you later."

Tigger squeezed her hand before ducking underneath the hood of a rusted out Ford pickup. Half-Sack whirled around to see if the coast was safe, and upon seeing the Sergeant-at-Arms still too close for comfort, went back to his task. His dedication to banal activity spoke volumes, Mattie thought; as did his understanding that Tigger was not somebody to piss off. How many prospects had Tig broken in her time? She'd never counted, but there had been an upsetting amount of bawling boys leaving the clubhouse never to be seen around the MC again.

Jackson was indeed in the office, sitting in front of the ancient PC that had rested on the desk since well before Mattie left for New York. She wondered why they hadn't bothered to update it- hadn't Bobby introduced her to some kind of computer whiz at Piney's party?- but upon seeing Jax's solitaire game, figured it didn't get much business use.

"Finally felt guilty enough to show?" Jax teased, rising to give her a hug.

"Not really." Mattie replied sarcastically, pecking him on the cheek. "What's going on?"

"Eh, not much. Same as usual. Mom said she went by to talk to you the other day. Must've been fun."

Mattie didn't know how to respond to that. Jackson and his mother were an unstoppable force; they had a relationship that she had always been jealous of. While Reese paid Mattie less attention than her morning cup of Irish coffee, Gemma had all her hope and love invested in Jax. The pride that she felt for her son was indefinitely palpable. And Mattie could do nothing but lament the fact that Reese had abandoned her when she was seven, and had done nothing but ignore her since. Now, Mattie had neither Reese nor Gemma, and the maternal rejection was harder than she'd ever admit.

"I can't tell if she told me to stay away from the club or not. I'm just going to be very, very careful."

"Mom just hated that one of her kids left the nest without her permission. She'll get over it. Plus, she thinks she's looking out for Tig." Jackson said dismissively, flicking the computer monitor off.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're throwing the man off his game. He's normally a horny sociopath, but since you've come back, Tig's been just a little bit… calmer, I guess. Less of a reckless asshole. I think you have a way of setting him at ease, if that's possible. Or I'm reading into things."

"I'm pretty sure that's the case." Mattie said wryly, sitting across from Jackson.

"Bobby said that you and the Prospect are best friends now. Maybe that's why Tig's on his best behavior. Doesn't want to lose you to a younger dude, I guess." Jax couldn't stop the laughter from breaking up his words, covering his mouth with one hand to help hide the sound.

"Half-Sack is neither my best friend nor my love interest. You are the absolute worst." She couldn't help laughing along with him, though. "What was so important, anyway?"

Jax opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the doorway interrupted him. "Hey, Lowell. Need keys or somethin'?"

"I, uh, need to ask a favor." Lowell stuttered, wringing his hands nervously. "I guess, well, that I had a misunderstanding with Moby's babysitter, and um, he gets out of kindergarten in a few minutes, and nobody else can pick him up. I can't get in touch with his mom either. Is it okay if I grab him and bring him back here? He'll be good, I promise."

Mattie met Moby only a few days ago, when Lowell had a similar problem. His babysitter was an irresponsible twenty-year-old, with more interest in her boyfriend and her drug habit than her job. It was almost hard for Matt to believe that Lowell had managed to father such a sweet, well-adjusted little boy, especially considering that he still had a little crank problem of his own. Jax assured Mattie that Lowell was on a better path, but she wasn't sure. A voice at the back of her mind whispered that Lowell Jr. was nothing like Lowell Sr., that he'd never hurt anybody but himself, and certainly not his child. Lowell really loved Moby, and she hoped that it was be enough to keep him clean.

"You really need to get a better sitter, man. That bitch has skipped out three times in the past two weeks." Jax sighed, trying to seem like a hard-ass, even thought Mattie was sure that he'd say yes to Lowell's request.

"I know. It's just that Liz… She comes pretty cheap."

"Yeah, that's great Lowell, but you need to figure out your childcare situation." Another theatrical sigh. "Go get your kid."

"Thanks, Jax. Hey, Mattie." Lowell acknowledged her presence, waving awkwardly. "Nice to see you around."

Did Lowell really want Moby moping around the garage while he worked? It was one thing for Mattie to grow up at Teller-Morrow; she always had Jax or Opie to keep her company. All Moby had was his dad, and while she assumed that the little boy wouldn't be a handful, she couldn't see him wanting to spend his afternoon watching his father turn a wrench. What did she have planned for that afternoon? Fuck-all, that was the answer. Donna was busy at work; her friendship with David was tainted by that kiss. She had absolutely no feelings for him anymore, it was nice catching up with an old friend, but honestly, that's all the night was. Mattie didn't even know it was supposed to be a date until he showed up in a pair of pressed khakis and a black blazer over a pale blue button down. That wasn't what you wore for a dinner with an old neighbor, that's what you wore when you wanted to rekindle a very, very old attraction. So she played along and put on a dress, looking the part but not playing it. David seemed not to notice that distinction.

Now that Matie thought about it, David's kiss was the clean cut, boy scout version of the one that Tig laid on her at Piney's party. How fucking weird.

And Mattie still felt super out of place at the club, despite her efforts to ease back in. How could she know for sure that her surrogate family still wanted her around? Why couldn't Gemma just give her a simple yes or no?

Mattie never had a large biological family. Well, that wasn't the whole truth, not including Reese; Bobby had another two sisters and a brother. There were ten Munson cousins. But Mattie had never felt very close to any of them, either too young or too old to be part of the fray. Her father was an only child whose own parents died years ago, with no other family to speak of. Once Reese split, taking George with her, it was just Mattie, Book, and Bobby, really. And the Sons of Anarchy. So yeah, it was easy to forsake her blood for the MC. Gemma made sure that Mattie had all the maternal guidance she could need, Jackson and Opie loved her like a sister, the Sons always kept an eye on her. Matt's extended family had her whole heart, and she didn't even know if they could forgive her for running away.

When Mattie was worried about something, she thought about it _obsessively_. The only remedy was a distraction, which of course, she didn't have at that very moment.

"Nice to see you too, Lowell." And before her brain could fully process the thought, she added, "If you want, I don't mind watching Moby for a little while."

"Oh, wow, that's really nice. Are- are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

"No, Moby is adorable. I'll keep him occupied until your shift is over."

"Really? I'm not imposing?"

"Of course not. I'd love to. I promise." Mattie smiled.

"Well, I can't really afford to pay you today-"

"Lowell, we've known each other for years. You don't owe me a dime. Anyhow, I'm the one who owes you for being so quick with my car."

Jackson smirked. "You're gettin' a pretty good deal here, Lowell. This one used to extort Bobby for fifteen bucks an hour to watch her own cousins. Plus, she's good with kids."

Lowell meekly agreed. "Uh, okay. I'll go get him, and I'll pick him up from your place at six. Sound good?"

Mattie nodded, and as soon as they heard the familiar squeal of Lowell's old station wagon, Jackson gave her a strange look. "You know it's going to end up being much longer than just this afternoon, right?"

"I figured as much, but it's not like I have a lot of other shit on my plate."

He shrugged. "I'll consider Moby practice for when I have you takin' care of my kid full time."

"You act like you're never going to see Abel. I bet from the moment you see that sweet little baby face, he's going to rule your life. You're never going to want to leave his side. And only eleven more weeks until he's born. Excited?"

"Petrified." He retorted, his face serious. "Is that fucked up or what?"

"Come on, Jax. You're going to be a first-time father; of course you're scared. It'll go away once he's here."

"Maybe. I don't think I'm cut out for fatherhood. Plus, he has Wendy for a mom. Having one messed up parent is a nightmare, but two? That kid has no chance."

Mattie didn't know how to change his mind. She could understand being apprehensive, but acting like he didn't care what happened to his child? Jax wasn't like that. He didn't do anything half-assed, put his whole being into whatever he was trying to accomplish. How could fatherhood be any different? Yeah, Abel was unplanned- she'd noticed that Jackson refused to say his son's name-but he still deserved his father's love. Maybe it was just nerves. Something that Jax wouldn't get over until Abel was born.

"Shut up, Jax. Abel is going to have the best dad that a kid could ask for, a grandma and grandpa that will not just spoil him rotten but kill for him. Not to mention all the uncles and aunts that he's going to have looking out for him back at the club. Your kid is set for life. With Wendy as his mother or not." Mattie pronounced, trying to calm him just a little. "And I already love him, if that matters."

"Considering how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings, you bet it fuckin' is. Sometimes I think that being raised among all us burly men made you come out funny."

"Fuck you too, Jackson." Mattie said, chuckling. Only he could say something like that and get away with it.

"Shit." He glanced at his phone. "I gotta take care of somethin' with Clay and Tig."

"Go ahead. I'll go out and wait for Lowell."

Jax kissed her cheek in farewell, leading Mattie out the office. "Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you, Mom wanted to know if you could look over my custody papers. Rosen is an asshole and Wendy's lawyer doesn't know shit. Between the two of them, she's afraid that her grandson's going to get picked up by CPS the moment he's born."

"Of course, Jax. It'll put my law degree to good use for once."

"Thanks, darlin'."

She watched him climb aboard his Harley, waiting for Tig and Clay. It was a weird feeling, seeing them like that. Strangely reassuring, yet tinged with anxiety. But Tig had told Mattie that he wanted to swing by her house later, so that must've meant that whatever they were doing wasn't too serious. Plus, it was only the three of them. Trying to shake the apprehension settling in her chest, Mattie walked toward her car. The elementary school was maybe fifteen minutes away from TM, so she still had a little bit of waiting to do until Lowell and Moby got back.

She wondered whether she was doing the right thing by keeping an eye on Moby. As much as Clay tried to watch out for Lowell, Lowell Sr. still managed to get his hands on him. Hopefully, Moby had a much quieter home life.

* * *

><p>Chibs knew Matilda was at the garage. He'd seen her sleek Mercedes slip in, sliding into a spot right outside the office. She strode to greet Sack first, which he thought was strange. How did the Prospect get a free pass from Tig to speak to her, while all Chibs got was a black eye? Christ, he thought, watching her smile at something Sack said, did she have to be so nice? He could handle it if Matilda turned out to be a heartless bitch, if her introversion made her cold, but if anything, she just seemed self-conscious. No, more like she didn't want people to judge her. But Matilda was kind to Half-Sack, to everybody else as well, and Chibs hated it. They hadn't spoken since the incident with Tig's fists on his face, she'd never explained that she was Tig's Old Lady, and therefore off limits.<p>

But she _wasn't_. He'd asked Jax a few days later, when his embarrassment had worn off, and the VP practically choked on his beer. Yeah, Chibs could see why the question was so crazy, after all, Tig was well, Tig, and wasn't tied down to anything besides the Sons. But Chibs wasn't stupid. There was something between Tigger and Mattie, their careful movements around one another proclaiming much more than they intended to hide. Jax said something about the two of them hooking up when Mattie was younger- when he'd inquired as to how young, Jax made a face and replied, "too young," and Chibs didn't bother pressing the issue- but said that the relationship ended once Mattie left for the east coast. Whether Jackson didn't know the specifics or was leaving them out for her sake, Chibs wasn't sure. Jax and Matilda were very close though, so he guessed the latter to be nearer to the truth.

Getting his ass handed to him hadn't lessened his interest in Mattie. It should've, his head hurt so bad the day after that it took him a couple whiskeys and five Advil to get his ass out of bed. Chibs really thought that the pain flushed all the flirtatious energy that flooded him when he first saw her at Teller-Morrow, but apparently, he was wrong. His eyes were glued to Mattie as she talked with Half-Sack, his attention to whatever task he was trying to complete gone.

Then Tig came by, kissing her neck, proving that she was his. Challenging Chibs to cross his turf again. Like he was really that stupid. Maybe-No, no, he wasn't, and he would keep his distance, pretend that Matilda didn't exist. He could pretend that it was a couple weeks ago and she had never come back to Charming, that he never found her wallet, and therefore, found her. The tattoo across her wrist should've been a warning, along with her reluctance to discuss it. Although, if she had asked him about the scars on his cheeks, would he have discussed the circumstances, though? Not at all, especially with somebody that was pretty much a complete stranger. Chibs would've lied, avoided the subject completely. Maybe the tattoo was her scar, her reminder that sometimes life was not so fair.

She had other tattoos; he'd seen them at the party. Her dress- that, despite its lack of straps and short hemline, was prim compared to the outfits of other women in attendance- revealed them. It surprised him; he didn't expect a girl like Mattie to have any tattoos, let alone the ones he spotted. A tiger stalked her right shoulder, while a cardinal perched on the left, both in striking color compared to her pale skin. Chibs had barely gotten close enough to see them, though, and there was a third piece, running below nape of her neck to the hollow between her shoulder blades that he hadn't been able to make out. They were words, a passage or a quote, but what the intricate script proclaimed, he had no idea. It would remain a mystery, because Chibs had no plans to ask Mattie just to get his ass kicked again.

She walked into the office after Tigger practically fucked her in the bright morning sun- whether it was to prove a point or because he loved Mattie, Chibs couldn't tell- leaving the Sergeant-at-Arms to stare at her retreating form. That Chibs understood, Mattie had a little body that he himself had been immediately attracted towards, but as to the expression on Tig's face, he was lost. Relief, maybe? Not to see her leaving, that wasn't it. Tig's hands had lingered on her hips even as Matilda pulled away from him, as though he were reluctant to give her up so easily. Aye, it _was _relief, Chibs guessed finally. If Fiona and Kerrianne suddenly arrived in Charming, he wouldn't want either of them out of his sight. Tig, on the other hand, couldn't proclaim his feelings in the same way. _Please stay here with me_. That's what his face said, what Tigger's lips could not.

If he wanted Mattie so badly, why didn't he just _tell_ her? Put a crow on her; make her his Old Lady, so that everyone else knew to back off. But then again, it was Tig. Chibs had never seen Tigger treat a woman like Mattie. Normally he'd relentlessly stalk a girl until she fucked him, slurring all the dirty things he'd like to do to her, just to throw her away afterwards. Chibs liked to have a regular woman; Tig didn't like the same girl twice. How Mattie fit into that equation, Chibs had no fucking idea. There was almost a sort of… reverence that Tigger directed towards Matilda. It was ridiculous. They were both adults, if they were still attracted to one another after all this time, then they needed to do something about it.

If only because Chibs couldn't handle not knowing whether or not Mattie could be his. He barely knew her, had little to no information as to what she'd done with the first twenty-odd years of her life. And, apparently, he had no idea how old she even was. Why did he feel this way? Because Matilda was pretty? No, there were some crow-eaters and sweetbutts that were just as appealing, with bigger tits and rounder asses, women who would fall at his feet the moment he said the word. Maybe he was attracted to Mattie because he knew absolutely fuck-all about her, beyond the fact that she was loosely attached to Tig. It was probably just the mystery that Chibs wanted, not the actual girl.

But after seeing her follow Jackson out of the office, her curls floating in the warm breeze, the sun filtering the coppery tones within the spirals, Christ, he threw that particular theory out the window. Today she was dressed in a simple pair of dark blue jeans with a burgundy sweater, a white top underneath. Not as frilly as the other day- which he didn't really mind, actually- but still put together. Maybe a little warm for the pleasant weather, but Chibs didn't think that Mattie was really one for short-shorts and tube tops.

He really needed to get back to work. Any more 'observation' and she was going to think that he was a creep. Distracted by the hunk of junk in front of him, Chibs managed to miss her lovely form crossing the yard to stand above him. When he noticed Mattie so close, he just about jumped out of his skin.

"Mary, mother'a Christ!" He exclaimed, watching her hand recoil from his shoulder.

"Sorry! A customer wants to pick up her car. I don't want to mess up the paperwork by trying to get that done for her. Everybody else is busy." Mattie's voice was quiet, not betraying whatever she felt.

"I'm busy too!" Chibs didn't mean to say it like that, the words a little too vicious. "What car?"

"The green Toyota." She replied, distant. "I found her keys, just not anything else."

Chibs dusted his hands on his workpants, following Mattie into the office. The woman waiting there looked impatient, complaining about needing her minivan for some school function, how Teller-Morrow was always slow with repairs. When she asked why she needed to pay so much to have her car serviced by criminals, the tension in the room became unbearably palpable. Why did the bitch have to ruin her brake pads? Why did Mattie have to be in the same tiny room as Chibs? Why did she belong to Tigger?

It was Mattie who spoke first. "There are at least a dozen garages in our corner of San Joaquin County. Why do you come to this one? Because you know that we get the job done and we don't fuck you over with the price either, despite the remark you just made. Or maybe it's because you like all the guns and leather. Don't worry; we don't judge you for it. So don't judge us."

Her tone was thick, illuminating a note of hidden ferocity. To Chibs' ears, it revealed volumes, it said_ get the hell out of my sight_, _don't treat me like shit_, and most of all, _don't you dare fuck with my people_. Had he really thought the woman at his side timid? Mattie sounded like Gemma, even looked like her with the furrow in her brow as she glared at the stunned woman. Eventually, once Chibs got the Toyota Lady all sorted, Mattie sighed in a tired way, pulling a curl behind her ear at the same time.

"Think we might've lost a customer?" He asked with a grin, making her lift her hazel eyes to his brown pair.

"She was a bitch. I hope she doesn't come back."

"I guess you're right."

It was quiet, all silence between the two of them, even if he was bursting at the seams with questions to ask her. She sat on the corner of the desk, passively observing his boots, gaze directed at the floor. Was she waiting for him to leave? Fine. That was just fine with him. No, it wasn't, but Chibs wasn't in any place to argue with her- why was he assuming that she would fight him? He knew _nothing_ about Mattie.

"I know this is too little, too late, but I'm really sorry for what happened at Piney's party. Tig- damn it, I don't what to say. I don't know why he reacted that way." She crossed her arms over her chest, protecting herself.

"I said somethin' dumb to him, about you. If I had known that you were with him, I mighta kept my mouth shut."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Why didn't you tell me? I made an arse of myself, kissin' your fuckin' hand like that. Can't take that back, now can I?"

"I know. I'm sorry." Mattie swallowed, "It was just nice talking to somebody that didn't know me, that couldn't make automatic assumptions about why I came back. I guess I saw you as my fresh start."

"You didn't have to lie about Tig."

"I didn't lie. You didn't ask." She shook her head, "No, you're right. I should've said something about Tigger. It's just, I don't know. I don't know."

"Are you his Old Lady?"

"No. We never got there. He's just possessive, I guess. Still. What did you say that pissed him off so bad? About coming to my house that night?"

"No. I told him I wanted to fuck you." Honest, maybe too much, but it didn't seem to bother her. "Wasn't the smartest move."

"Maybe not." She laughed, the tiny sound making Chibs feel just a little better. "I guess I could see why he was perturbed. Jax might've reacted the same way, so you might not want to drop that bomb around him either."

"He said you grew up together."

"Yeah. Go ahead. Ask, I know you want to. I owe you."

Permission to solve all her mysteries? Is that what he wanted? Yeah, but not in the office at Teller-Morrow. Over a whiskey at the clubhouse. After sex, when he'd hold her in his arms and whisper into her hair. Shit, he was losing it. What did Mattie do that made his brain gush in such a disturbing way?

"You sure?"

"I think so."

"The tattoo?" He pointed to his wrist. "Tig? You said it was a gift."

"Yeah. Before I went to college, to remember him by. Closest I ever got to a crow."

Before she went to college? Shit, she was just a little thing. What, eighteen? Nineteen? No wonder Jax had been irritated when Chibs asked about the relationship. What big brother- even if they weren't blood, their bond was obvious- wants an older man chasing after their baby sister? Much less somebody like Tig. Why had her father allowed such a thing? Christ, they were _brothers_. He must've known what Tig was like, that he was perverted- perverted enough to fuck a teenager, apparently. How? What father would allow that to happen? If somebody like that wanted his Kerrianne, he'd tear him limb from limb, Son or not. No, especially if it were a Son. Chibs loved his brothers, but he loved Kerri more.

"You were… together? Then?"

Mattie looked vaguely embarrassed. "Yeah. And I was eighteen when… you know. I was legal. Cross my heart. And it was gradual. It's not one day we just jumped one another. Slow burn, as they say."

"Oh. And that was six years ago?"

"Nearly ten. I left Charming after I graduated from Berkeley. I was twenty-one, almost twenty-two. I'm twenty-seven now. That's when the six year absence happened."

"You didn't see each other for a whole six years? And he's still actin' like that?"

"Tig's acting the way he is just to prove a point. It's not about me specifically, he's just trying to show that he doesn't want to share his toys."

To hear Mattie refer to herself as a material item so casually was upsetting. Did she really believe that? Or was it simply something she said? It wasn't true, Chibs had seen the way that Tig reacted around her. Plus, since she came back, he was so much more focused. As though having her close was one less thing that he needed to worry about. No, that wasn't quite it. She seemed to soothe him almost, able to diffuse the fury that Tig kept very much accessible. Matilda was almost like a quieter, younger Gemma. But an Old Lady without the title or the perks. It didn't seem to bother her- no, it did, he could see it in all those painful twists her hands made around one another when either of them said the two words. Mattie wasn't as stoic as she hoped, not to him at least.

"Don't sell yourself short, Matt."

"I'm not, trust me. That's an optimistic assessment. I'm a sweetbutt that's not allowed to sleep around, at worst."

"You're not a whore, either. Didn't you turn me down?" He teased, watching a small grin spread across her coral lips.

"I guess so."

The tension in the room had evaporated long ago, it was less like two strangers having an awkward conversation and more like two new acquaintances having a deep discussion. Maybe they were friends. He didn't know how to tell, and he certainly wasn't going to ask.

"The tattoo-"

"From Tig?" Her question bit into his, as though she were trying not to talk about the Sergeant-at-Arms any longer.

"No, at the party I noticed you have a few on your back. I hope that isn't weird."

"It's okay. Sometimes I forget that they're there." It sounded vaguely like a lie but he didn't follow that line of thought.

"I saw the cardinal and tiger- I get those. One's you, the other's Tig. Not to pry, but what does the piece in the center say?" When she was quiet, he hastily added, "You gave me permission to ask anything."

"I know."

Mattie shrugged out of her unbuttoned burgundy cardigan, dropping it on the desk, showing off the white halter-top that had hidden underneath. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she turned, showing off the pale flesh. As his eyes skimmed over the letters, her calm, clear voice read them aloud.

"It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived." She paused, as to signify the shamrock that separated the two passages. "It's only after you've lost everything, that you're free to do anything."

Beautiful. So fucking gorgeous that his own hands betrayed him, his fingertips running over Mattie's smooth skin. She didn't react. No breathing, just sitting there, frozen, allowing Chibs to touch her. It was good that Tig was on a quick run. Jax, too. Neither would be very happy to see him and Matilda sharing this kind of contact.

"SAMCRO," Mattie raised her arm to show off that tattoo, "To remind me of my family. To show others where I come from. The tiger so that I can remember what it feels like to fall in love. That as breathtaking as love starts, it'll end up killing you. My cardinal is for my brother. He's always with me, even if we're not together. And the quotes, are obviously for my dad."

"They're stunning." Chibs sighed, pulling his hand back. "What is it from?"

"My dad's nickname was Book. Short for Bookworm, which he was. Always reading, and his favorite was _To Kill a Mockingbird_. I thought that was strange, you know, he was supposed to be an outlaw biker and there he was, with his flowery literary tastes. I didn't understand until I reread it after he died. And the quote just fit him. He embodied brains before bullets. He killed because he had to, because he wanted to keep his family safe, not necessarily because he had any bloodlust. And the second, well, it's from _Fight Club_. One of my favorites. That's just how I felt for a very long time when I was younger."

The memories made her quiet. Chibs wished that he'd known this Book, Bobby's brother-in-law, her father. Mattie sounded just like him. Sensible, calm, intelligent. Probably a little emotionally distant, too. But she was trying to open up.

"Does this mean you trust me?" It came out in a whisper, and for a second he wasn't sure if she heard it.

She pulled her sweater back on, removing her skin from his view. "Chibs, I trusted you from the moment I saw your cut." Mattie smiled, and he saw the honesty in her words.

It worried him when he realized just how much he missed that closeness with her after she left with Moby.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I said this one would be longer, didn't I? It was another one of those chapters that I'd intended to post separately, but since they were pretty much half of the same coin, so I figured they'd be better off together. I stopped writing in Chibs' accent, because when I reread it, well, I realized how distracting it was and decided to chuck it. And I promise, the next chapter has _lots_ of Tig. Cross my heart. Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

_Waiting in the car_

_Waiting for a ride in the dark_

_Drinking in the lights_

_Following the neon signs_

_Waiting for a word_

_Looking at the milky skyline_

_The city is my church_

_It wraps me in its blinding twilight_

_Midnight City – M83_

* * *

><p>Tigger was beyond pissed off as he re-buckled his belt. It was supposed to be <em>his<em> Saturday night, one that he was planning to spend with one of the choicest sweetbutts. She was named Carla, but Tig called her Vice. As in her pussy was like a vice grip, or at the very least, tighter than most of the other girls. He had her all situated in his dorm room, purring like a goddamn kitten, and she'd already satisfied him once with her mouth, but he wanted to get down to the nitty-gritty. But when Tig opened his nightstand, searching for one of his trademark magnum condoms, they were gone. Shit. He vaguely remembered using the last one the night before, but in his hungover state that morning, forgot all refilling his stock. Fucking embarrassing. But, no glove, no love, just like his mama taught him, so he told Vice to hang on for minute while he ran out. He could borrow a couple from one of his brothers, but they weren't as well endowed as him. Not that he'd ever taken a look, but it was a matter of ego. Tig just knew.

The clubhouse was quiet, everyone either shacked up for the night or gone home already, just the Prospect cleaning up the bar, the phone cradled in the crook of his neck. Whatever. He'd drill the kid later about the rules. Tig was a man on a mission. Grab some condoms, come right back and fuck Vice like she'd never been fucked before.

This was the part when his plans went completely fubar.

"Hey, Tigger?" The Prospect called as Tig walked towards the front door.

"What the fuck do you want, assface? I gotta go." He barked, a couple stragglers looking to see what had gotten the Sergeant-at-Arms in such a mood.

"There's, uh, a girl on the phone. She's asking for Book, but Ronni said he went home already. Should I tell her to call there?"

Mattie. Shit. "Gimme the phone, idiot. Next time a member's daughter calls, don't go asking the last girl he put his dick in. You ask one of us."

"Oh- okay." He stuttered, and went back to mopping up the mess on the bar.

Tigger thought that maybe if he helped Book's daughter out of a jam, it'd stop the enforcer from watching him like a hawk whenever Mattie was around. Christ, did the man think that he was just going to jump on her with everybody else around? Tig was just pressing buttons, seeing how far he could go before she would flinch. Mattie was so guarded, had such a good poker face, honestly, he just liked to see when her placid expression would melt into a more identifiable emotion. She had a few easy tells that he'd learned over the years. When she was annoyed, she'd bite the inside of her cheeks to keep herself from responding in an irritable way. Say something that pleased her, she'd flick her hazel eyes up and down in appraisal. Surprise Mattie with something unpleasant, and she'd briefly close both eyes at the exact same time. She never broke down, never got hysterical, and Tig found it astonishing. Mattie was supposed to be seventeen, but at times, she felt much older than that. Had a face like a goddamn angel, but like her pop, eyes like a fucking hawk.

But… there was something about the girl, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, that made him feel like she truly understood him. Like she could see straight into him. It was unsettling, to say the least. And it wasn't even like he was a member of her inner circle; the select few that got to see all the parts that she hid under her protective armor. No, that wasn't it. All the Sons doted on Mattie, since she was really the only girl. Tig just wasn't included. Every time he tried to get close to her, she pushed him away, and if not her, then Book or Jax. It pissed Tig off. What was wrong with him? What did he do to personally offend her?

Nevertheless, she was part of the MC family, and he was obligated to take care of her. So he lifted the receiver to his ear. "What's the matter?"

"Daddy?" Christ. That sort of tone wasn't good.

"No. It's Tig. Your dad's at home. What's the matter, baby? You sound… bad." It was the only thing he could think of to describe the weak way that she spoke.

"I'm… I… Can you send Jax to pick me up? I'm drunk and I can't drive home. I don't even know where my fucking keys are." She admitted.

"Where are you?" A tendril of anxiety stretched through his chest. "I have no idea where the prince is."

"Never mind then. I'll go home with my friends then. No big deal."

Tig was ready to hang up the phone and head out to the corner store, but something made him grip the receiver even tighter. "No. Don't. I'll pick you up."

"Tig, you don't have to worry about-"

"Just tell me where you are."

"Pope. It's a club called Toxic."

"Pope? Goddamn it, Matt, what were you thinking?" That tendril morphed into something that felt like full-blown panic. "You're seven-fucking-teen. It's one thing here, at the club, but- Christ. Do you know the address?"

"I- It's on Albany. Big warehouse decked out in neon lights. I don't know the exact location. You can't miss it."

"Yeah. Wait outside, and stay put." Albany Road was a long street off one of the main drags, went through neighborhoods that were dark and shady. Exactly where he didn't want Mattie to be.

"Tigger?" Oh God. She sounded so tiny, so scared. As annoyed as he'd been with both her and her father- and Jax, too- lately, he didn't want Mattie to get hurt.

"Yeah, baby girl?" Maybe that would soothe her, just a little bit.

"Thank you. I gotta, um, give the phone back to the bartender."

"Okay, I'll be there. Be safe, sweetheart."

Tig didn't hear her answer, just a shuffle and snatch of dance music before the click of the phone being hung up. The prospect seemed to have ignored the conversation, and was collecting come of the stray beer bottles around the clubhouse. Tig glared at him, getting the kid's attention, before motioning back to the dorms.

"There's a girl in my room, kick her out. Tell her that I had to do somethin' for the club. No details. And if Book calls about Mattie for any reason, tell him that she's with Donna and they're out with the boys. Do not tell him that you spoke to her on the phone, okay, asshole?"

"Yeah." The Prospect tried to look tough. "I can do that."

"You better, or I will be grilling your balls for breakfast." Tig threatened, before heading outside. The late October air was colder than he'd expected, but the temperature wasn't anything for him to worry about. He started towards his bike but then remembered that Matt was drunk- and the last thing he wanted to do was keep a tipsy girl on the back of his Harley. Plus, if Book came by in the morning and Tig's ride was still there, it wouldn't look so weird. It wasn't as if the older man was going to stop by his dorm and say good morning. So, Tig borrowed one of the club vans, hoping that nobody would notice its absence before he returned it.

Getting Mattie home safely was his first concern. Proving to Book that he could be alone with her without getting her pregnant would be Tig's second.

Honestly, Tigger got it. Mattie was Book's only daughter, really his only kid, so of course he was overprotective. That girl was his heart and soul, his reason for living, his reason for doing what he did for the club. The MC needed somebody taken care of; Book Cardinal did it, no questions asked. He was the best guy for the job, always doing things smart instead of fast. If Book was in charge of taking somebody out, you knew it wasn't going to lead back to the Sons of Anarchy. Because of that, Clay used him mostly for special occasions. When things were slow, Book worked his prized fists to collect debts for SAMCRO. And the man practically regarded brains before bullets as scripture. It was impressive, actually, how composed Book could be. Except when it came to Mattie. When she started dating, shit… Tig wasn't sure how him and the boys got through all Book's blowups. How David Hale managed to be with Mattie for such a long time- well, for kids in high school- Tig didn't have the foggiest. Kid had big fucking balls. It also drove Jax nuts, so that was a plus.

Tig didn't know why Jax Teller got under his skin. He really wasn't a bad kid. But out of the trio of SAMCRO babies- Jax, Opie and Mattie, as they were affectionately known- Jax just irked him. Maybe it was because that kid was going to have a chance at the gavel and he was more than a decade younger than Tig. Not that Tigger particularly wanted to have the responsibility of MC president, but it would nice to be considered before the Prince. That title probably had something to do with his dislike for the younger man. Jax had everything handed to him on a silver platter, and never really seemed to acknowledge the power that everyone else had to earn. Him and Opie were legacies. Clay used that phrase all the time. Opie was a gentle giant, looked dumb as rocks but was actually one of the quickest, most perceptive people Tig ever met. Jax was also smart, but incredibly cocky. Like he didn't think that his perfect life could get taken away from him. Tara leaving definitely shook him up, though. Rocked his consistent little world. Women came and women left. It was just how things were, and Jax was going to have to get used to that idea eventually.

As far as wives and the Sons of Anarchy went, well, the club didn't have a very good track record. Tig watched the life destroy girl after girl, his own included. Colleen took his kids when they were a little less than four and never came back. Mary Winston left with Opie a few years ago-but he came back. All of Bobby's wives lasted a few years and then split. But none of them had the nerve to do what Reese Cardinal did. She took her youngest, George, and left Mattie and Book in Charming. Only ever fought for custody of the boy, never bothered with her daughter. And that made Tig as furious today as it did ten years ago. Mattie was a good girl, bright, definitely quiet, but her mother seemed not to care. Reese's reason was that the club had already sunk its claws into Mattie, and that there was nothing she could do to change that. George was not going to become a Son like his father; he was not going to know the violence and the mayhem. Mattie was her father's daughter, through and through, and nothing Reese could do would change that. She made it sound like Mattie was brainwashed by the Sons of Anarchy, when all the club ever did was treat her like family. So when Reese was gone, the club stepped in. Gemma was Mattie's mother for the past decade, and a better one than Reese could ever be. And the MC didn't damage Mattie. If anything, her loving surrogate family made her stronger.

Which was exactly why Tig was so worried about her. Mattie didn't go out and get drunk, and if she did, it was with Donna and the boys. The SAMCRO babies- plus Donna, an addition that the trio had picked up in elementary school- had a habit of sticking together, especially when they wanted to have some fun. It was way out of character for Mattie to go out to a club. She was a bookworm. When she wasn't playing her piano, she was doing homework, and if she wasn't doing that, she was staying after school for one extracurricular or another. Hell, if she wasn't with Donna, who'd she go with? Mattie wasn't exactly known for her outgoing personality, and often complained that she was the only one out of her friends still in high school. Hale, maybe? No. That boy had a serious stick up his ass. Fuck.

By the time that Tig was on Albany Road, he'd forgotten about Vice. Sweetbutts were disposable, they were fun but they weren't important. Mattie was important. She was his brother's daughter, and if something happened to her- Tig didn't want to think about the consequences. Mattie would be safe. He'd get her home in one piece. Apparently drunk- which he'd seen her plenty of times, but under the watchful eye of the club- but that was better than all the other alternatives. Tig was going to kill her for making him worry. He was a strong man. He had his shit together. Tipsy seventeen-year-olds should not strike fear into his heart. But he was exactly that, afraid.

And he did not, for the life of him, know why she wasn't waiting outside the fucking club like he asked her to. Christ, Mattie. After parking the van, Tig glanced about the parking lot, seeing nobody but necking couples and giggling groups of girls that Mattie wasn't part of. Now he was terrified. What if somebody else offered to give her a ride home? Or tried to take advantage of her? Shit. The drive had felt like it took a long time. He let her down. Quickening his stride, Tig headed for the front door to ask around, check if anybody saw her leave. He'd have to call in the cavalry, including Book, and he'd probably get his ass chewed for not doing so before he left. More fodder for Jax to use against him. _Hey, remember the time that you went to pick up the girl that I consider my younger sister and you took forever and she got-_

"Tigger?" He'd never been so relieved to hear her voice before.

Tig looked between the few people congregating near the entrance, wondering where that little cry came from, but he couldn't find her. He must've misheard somebody else, must've imagined Mattie. But then he felt a gentle tug on his cut, and recognized those chestnut curls… and nothing else.

No. This girl- woman, that was a better word for her- wasn't Mattie. _No_. It wasn't possible. Tig had know her for years, had watched her grow up, and… Jesus, he couldn't help but stare. Mattie was wearing- that couldn't even be considered a dress. Not really. It was short, and a very pretty shade of deep purple that was too eye-catching, that made her pale skin glow pearl white. It skimmed along her body; just tight enough to emphasize an hourglass figure that Tig didn't even know existed. Silver beading near the low neckline lead his eyes directly to her- oh fuck, that was cleavage. A lot of cleavage. Mattie had tits? Naw. Must've stuffed her bra or something. Tig tried not to look, he really tried, but that unexpected swell of flesh was alluring. Christ. Mattie Cardinal had tits. Nice ones. And shapely legs ending in black heels that just screamed _Tigger, fuck me_!

Tig wasn't attracted to her. It was just the shock of seeing her look less like the girl he'd seen every single day for years and years replaced by this… this… Goddamn it. Tig did his best to focus on her hazel eyes and not those underage-but-still-spectacular tits. Hell, he wasn't even a gentleman, didn't have many boundaries either, but somehow, Mattie seemed to have found one of them. Hopefully she wouldn't notice him trying to ogle her. Or remember it. But Jesus Christ, what happened? The woman standing next to him was definitely not seventeen, she was twenty-one at least, maybe older. Oh god. He needed to stop thinking. She was underage, she was the daughter of one of his brothers, and she was not remotely interested in a man twice as old as she was.

But Mattie was fucking gorgeous. Tig had never realized it before. Or maybe she never let him.

"Are you okay?" He had the overwhelming need to touch her, to make sure she was real. Tig skimmed his fingertips over her arms, taking her hands in his. Yeah, Mattie was really there.

"Wasted and cold, but fine otherwise."

Of course she was cold. All she wore was the sleeveless cotton dress. He was such an idiot. He shrugged out of his sweatshirt and tossed it over her shoulders. Mattie would still freeze until the shitty heater in the van started up, but it would be better than nothing. Had to remember to check the heating system in the shop on Monday.

"Come on, let's go home." He tugged at her hand, pulling her towards the parking lot.

They got about halfway to the car before she stopped in her tracks. "Wait. You're bringing me home?" Her words were a little slurred, slower than usual.

"Yeah, baby."

"_You're_ bring me home? You do realize that no matter what story we tell, if you bring me home drunk, my dad will probably shove his favorite shotgun into your chest and pull the trigger, no questions asked?"

Well. He hadn't considered that. Tig hadn't been the one to get her into such a state, but she was right, Book wouldn't care about that. All he'd have to see was Tig with his underage, intoxicated daughter, and he would flip a shit. But where else could he bring her? If Tig took her back to the club, then he ran the chance of Jax seeing them together, if he took her anywhere else… it would be nearly two in the morning. Gemma probably wouldn't say anything- but last time Tig checked, her son was still living at home. Fucking fuck. If Donna's parents weren't such assholes, he could probably drop Mattie off there.

"Let's just get out of here." He retorted.

Getting her in the passenger seat of the van was a trick in half. Mattie could barely manage the single step up between her heels and her drunkenness, so Tig practically had to position Mattie on the Harley himself. Which meant that he had to touch her in places that made him uncomfortable, a bare leg, her hips, waist, little strokes that she didn't seem to notice that felt completely magnified to Tig. Why did she have to pick this night to look like a bombshell? Where was that red fucking sweatshirt?

He told her to hold on to the seatbelt he stretched across her chest, especially since she wasn't quite in her right mind. Mattie mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before he shut the door and went around to the drivers' seat. As he set off towards Charming, Mattie huddled inside his sweatshirt, sheltering herself from the night's chill. Poor little thing. Hopefully the jacket he gave her would offer a little bit of insulation, and she wouldn't be a complete popsicle by the time he got her… Okay, he hadn't exactly decided where to bring her, which shit storm would be the mildest. Anywhere he took Mattie would cause some sort of fall out, whether immediate or eventual.

Tig looked over at her once he got into an area of Pope where the roads were better lit and a little straighter, a little disappointed that the sweatshirt swallowed that unexpectedly sexy body. Which reminded him, once again, that she wasn't a kid anymore. Mattie was an adult, with grown up thoughts and feelings to match that fucking grown up body. No wonder Book was so protective. When Tig saw a woman he liked, he went for broke. He'd charm her into his bed, and toss her away afterwards. In stark morning light, he didn't need to be reminded of the mistakes he'd made the night before. Because the sweetbutts, the croweaters, Tig's voracious sexual appetite, they were all reasons that he wasn't married anymore, that he didn't have his kids. He'd fucked up and paid the price, but he kept repeating the pattern, over and over, just to see if the end result would change. Bobby once told him that was the definition of insanity, but Tig didn't care. He was anything but sane. All he had was the club, his brothers. No wife, no daughters, not even a fucking regular lay. They were all things that he could have, easily, if he really wanted, but something always stopped him. When things got too good, when the world was working in his favor, Tig always did something to upset the balance. He didn't know how to handle the quiet times. So he drank and he fucked and he waited for things to fall into ruin so he could fix them again.

No wonder Book didn't want Tig near his kid. Without factoring in that Mattie was a fine little cherry waiting to be popped, he was worried that Tig would accidentally destroy her. But he liked Mattie, liked that she was one of the few women that wasn't afraid of him. She treated him like everyone else, not like a ticking time bomb. Mattie didn't handle him with kid gloves. She made him feel overwhelmingly normal. That was the best way to describe how her composed personality invaded his, like she let him borrow a little piece of herself in those brief moments when they were together. It was… nice.

They were in Charming proper by the time that Tig made a choice. It was not necessarily the best one, but it would grant him enough time to get his story together. He could feel her confusion when the passed the turn-off for her street, heading towards the opposite side of town. After pulling the van behind an abandoned storefront, Tig gently untangled Mattie from her seatbelt and pointed to a doorway that was almost lost in the dim moonlight.

"Where are we?" She breathed, holding onto his arm for support.

"Home." Tig replied, unlocking a door and leading her up a set of narrow stairs.

"You trying to kill me?" Mattie asked in an amused way, "Because you certainly picked a remote spot to do the deed."

He sent a glare her way before entering his apartment. It was messy, a little cluttered, but it would do. Tomorrow he'd bring her back to Pope to grab her car, and they'd be covered. Nobody would know that they spent entire night alone together, a night that he had no doubt would quickly become excruciating. He'd spent hundreds, maybe thousands of early hours with a woman in his bed, but they were always naked. Mattie would definitely be keeping her clothes on, even if his brain was betraying him with little fantasies of enchanting her into pulling that dress off, just for him. Hell yeah, it was going to be a painful night.

Missy ran out to greet them, her tail wapping against his legs as he wrangled both girls inside the front door. Somehow, the German shepherd was much easier to handle. Mattie bent down to pet the dog, revealing a longer expanse of leg than Tig was prepared for. Shit. A few more inches and he'd get a good glimpse of whatever underwear- or lack thereof, although he didn't think Mattie was that sort of woman- she wore under her dress.

"Is this… you don't live in your dorm? I've never seen you go home before." Mattie lifted her hazel eyes, crinkling her brow just a little. The cold drive back must've sobered her up, because she'd lost that slur.

"It's easier to stay at the club some nights, but yeah, I've lived here for a long time. Made a deal with the landlord." Where did she think Tig kept Missy when the pup wasn't at the club?

She nodded. "I can crash on the couch."

"No, you take the bed. You're my guest." When did Tig become so chivalrous? Maybe it was the idea that it would be much easier to fuck her if she was already between his sheets…

Mattie looked at the loveseat that was pretty much the only seating in his whole apartment. "Nope. I'll be good. Could I could borrow something to sleep in, though? This ensemble, well, I don't know what I was thinking."

A half-hour later, and she was curled up under an old afghan, wearing one of his favorite shirts and a pair of boxers taken straight out of the package. Tig changed quickly, feeling awkward at the presence of another person in his private space. If he ever brought a woman back to his place, she was out the door the moment he rolled off the condom. Never had any overnight visitors before, well, besides Missy at least. But it was settling to hear the sound of Mattie's soft breathing, the tiny little sighs she exhaled when she slept.

So, Tig kept his bedroom door open in the vain hope that she'd lull him to an easy sleep.

She did.

* * *

><p>Mattie didn't know where she was. Or how she'd gotten there. It felt familiar in a strange way, but it definitely was not her bed. The covers were a soft deep green flannel, and smelled like a combination of laundry detergent and Lever 2000. At least this strange bed was clean. The bright morning sunshine forced her eyes shut once again, and Mattie racked her throbbing brain, trying to remember how she'd ended up in this alien place. She had the errant thought that she should be more worried; more concerned for her well being, but… it was safe. She was okay here.<p>

Her mouth was incredibly dry and tasted rank. If the headache was any indicator, Mattie probably got very drunk the night before, and had vomited her way into sobriety. Like usual. Which was exactly why Jax always counted the number of drinks she had, why he always traded out her favorite Jack and Coke for straight Coca Cola when she was too loopy. So, if she'd gotten shitfaced, she must've gone out without Jackson, which in itself was a rarity. No Jax meant no Opie, no Donna. Who, then? Sighing and settling back into her pillow, Mattie searched the whiskey-soaked recesses of her mind, looking for a name, a clue. Anything.

All that she could recall was the phantom sensation of calloused fingertips rasping gently across the back of her neck as they scooped up her hair, cold tile underneath her knees, a porcelain toilet hovering below her bowed head. Tig's fingers. Oh shit. This was Tigger's apartment. This was Tigger's bed. These were Tigger's clothes that _she_ was wearing. Goddamn it. Mattie would've scrambled out of bed, if she'd been able to, but at that moment, all of the memories plunked back into place. They didn't necessarily set her as ease, but knowing that she hadn't crossed _that_ line with a man twice her age, she let herself linger between the sheets for a moment more.

In biology, which was an early morning, advanced placement class, Mattie had paired with Mary Singleton for a lab. Mary was one of those girls who was friends with everybody, who was sweet enough to get the teachers to bend to her will and devious enough to still be cool with all her classmates. She remembered that Mattie dated David Hale for nearly two years, and asked her if she wanted to hang out after school some time. So Mattie did. A couple weeks went by and it seemed like she an actual friend, one that wasn't a SAMCRO baby or Donna. Seventeen years, and Mattie only really had three close friendships. So Mary invited her to chill with some of her friends at that club in Pope, and the only thing Mattie needed to do was get a fake ID, because they only allowed an over twenty-one crowd.

Mattie had been drunk before. She'd smoked before, cigarettes and weed. She'd experimented with a cornucopia of drugs alongside Jax and Opie. There wasn't a whole lot of risky shit that Mattie hadn't done, but she wasn't about to go tell Mary Singleton that. So she just bought an old ID off one of the sweetbutts that looked vaguely like her, and drove to the club without the intention of getting too wasted to make the trip home. Because even if Mattie grew up around hard-drinking individuals, she could not hold her liquor for shit. Three was her usual limit, four got her absolutely hammered, and anymore than that, she'd probably wouldn't wake up the following morning. But Mary kept feeding her shots, and they were all having so much fun, laughing and dancing. Mattie felt like a whole different person with those girls. She wasn't Book Cardinal's daughter, or Bobby Munson's niece; she wasn't Jax Teller's pretend younger sister. Mattie was just… Mattie. Or a facsimile of such. At the time, she didn't care. Then, Mary's best friend, Cara, blew chunks all over one of the guys she'd been dancing with, and they all were escorted out.

That's when she'd made the call to the club, asking for Book. The Prospect said he wasn't around and neither was Bobby or Jax, but if Mattie waited a second, he'd get somebody else. She didn't want _somebody else_, she wanted her father, and figured that whoever it was wouldn't want to drag their ass to Pope at midnight to pick up her drunk ass. And when it was Tig's voice on the other end, well, she was sure that she'd just take Mary up on her offer of a ride back to Charming. But he insisted that he'd come out, which surprised the shit out of her. If she'd been treated the way that Tig was by Book, she would've hung up the phone but not before telling the person on the other end to go fuck themselves. Mattie figured that his willingness to spend Saturday night with her and not one of the sweetbutts was more out of obligation than specific loyalty to Mattie. He'd been almost sweet though. She didn't remember once, but she remembered that.

So when Mary and her friends were jammed into her little Jetta and driving away, there was something close to relief in Mattie's chest. It was fucking cold, but hell, at least she wasn't stuck in the back seat of that little car with four other girls. Apparently, she wasn't the only one too drunk to drive.

Mattie and Tigger didn't always see eye to eye, but she trusted him. Even when she swore to God that her tits were about to freeze off, she had no doubts that he'd swoop in and take her back to Charming. And when he did it with the van and not his Harley, Christ, she'd almost kissed him. In gratitude, not like, drunken lust or anything like that.

She distinctly remembered sleeping on the couch. But if the taste in her mouth meant anything, Mattie spent a significant amount of time praying to the great white toilet god, as Jax would've said. Tired of trying to put the puzzle pieces together, she sat up and put her feet on the floor, willing herself to stand. But there was a voice and a face in the doorframe looking down at her in concern.

"You feelin' better?" Tig asked, holding what smelled like a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Yeah, when I pretend that I didn't make a complete ass out of myself." She replied, trying out a small smile. He returned it.

"You're fine. It's nice to know that you're not so perfect as everybody makes you out to be." With that, he walked back into the other room, leaving Mattie to scrape herself out of bed.

First though, she headed to the bathroom in the corner of the room and cleaned herself up a little bit. Scrubbed some toothpaste across her mouth with her finger, rinsed off the streaks of mascara on her cheeks, and finally, found a rogue hair tie sitting on the corner of the sink and used to tie the excess material on Tig's boxers. They kept sliding down her hips, and the last thing she needed to do was give Tigger a free show. Although, after last night, maybe he deserved one.

Mattie walked out to the main room of the apartment, a combination of kitchen and living room that was cluttered but not necessarily unclean. She got the distinct idea that he might've picked up a bit since she arrived, but she didn't comment on it as she sat in the spot between him and Missy on the couch. Tig had some morning television news program on low while he held the Sunday paper in his hands, and gave her a once over when she fell into the sofa cushions.

"That's quite a look for you." He teased.

"Thanks." She fingered the long navy blue button down she wore over a plain white tee. "I might just keep this."

"Go right ahead, just don't let your pop know it's mine. We'll both be dead." Tig set the newspaper down. "You want something to eat?"

"No. I'm still a little off from last night. Thanks though."

"Well, when you're up for it, I have eggs and… eggs. Maybe a slice of bread or two."

Mattie should want to get her own clothes back on and get home as quickly as possible, before her father found out that she was alone with Tig in his apartment. Book was convinced that Tig was going to try something with her, that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. He never took it into account that Mattie might not want Tigger to. Not that she did, it wasn't worth the drama it would eventually cause, but the man at her side had a charm that was sexy as hell. No wonder all the girls at the club threw themselves at his feet. Mattie had heard the size rumors, gossip about his strange requests, and of course, how he threw the sweetbutts out of his room the moment he was done with them. He wasn't gentle, he wasn't subtle, he was just… Tig. Crass and stubborn, yet trusted by all his brothers. Even Book, despite their current power play. Tigger was a loose cannon, he was a psychopath, but he still took time out of his night to come and get her. Sure, Mattie might've been able to bumble her way home with Mary, but it would've been uncomfortable, and she'd have to explain herself to Book.

Mattie remembered that blue dress she'd been wearing. It went against all her rules, it was form fitting, short, and also sparkly, but she felt oddly powerful when she wore it with the black pumps Luann had lent her. The older woman hadn't asked why Mattie wanted to borrow her shoes, just shrugged in a conspiratorial way and brought them with her the next time she went to the club. Mattie knew that Luann thought she was too much of a tomboy, that she spent too much of her life running around and getting dirty with Jax and Opie, but Otto's old lady never said anything about it. She and Gemma often made attempts to feminize Mattie, but they never pressed the issue. If they'd seen her last night, well, Mattie didn't know if they'd applaud or faint.

The dress made her look like a girl. Mattie didn't know how to feel about that.

"Hey, Matt?" Tigger asked cautiously.

"Yep?"

"W-Who did you go out with last night?" There was a note of terror in his normally playful voice, one that made her jerk her gaze away from the television.

"A couple girls from school. Why?"

Tig swallowed and held out the paper. "You should… Just look at this."

_Six Charming Teenagers Dead in Auto Accident, Underage Drinking Suspected, _read the headline. Mattie stopped breathing for a moment as she stared at the article, not ready to actually delve into the details. Letters glared at her anyway, and she was sure that the color drained from her face. Mary Singleton. A silver Jetta. Club Toxic in Pope.

Mattie felt Tig's ice blue eyes on her skin, felt his need to ask questions. She couldn't even fathom…

"Mattie-" He called after her as she dashed into the bathroom, not able to be in the presence of another person.

She didn't cry. Mattie had an gigantic extended family that were all under the impression that she was one of those rare people who never broke, whose ironclad armor never buckled. And they were mostly right. Few people were allowed to see her vulnerabilities. As strange as it sounded, Mattie only liked to be near one person when she was miserable, and that was Gemma. The Queen would gather Mattie into her arms and knew when to whisper sweet things into her hair or give her blunt but truthful advice. Then she'd make her a cup of tea and let Mattie talk until she was too tired to go on. Whenever Mattie needed Gemma, she was always kind of grateful that Reese left. It was a wretched thing to think, but it was the truth. Gemma loved Mattie like one of her own, and Mattie always felt it.

Gripping the sides of the faux-marble topped vanity; she sucked in a deep breath. Mary Singleton was dead. All the girls that Mattie danced and drank with just hours ago were dead. How close had Mattie been to meeting the reaper that the Sons of Anarchy wore so proudly? Surely, the devil must've touched her in the moments when she chose to call home before jumping into the car with those girls. And if she'd chosen to just go with Mary, Mattie would be… She'd have suffered the same fate. Book would be planning her funeral. There would be one less SAMCRO baby.

Her broken, bloody body could've been one of those pulled out of the Jetta. But she was miraculously whole, only a tad hungover. Mattie never believed in God before, always thought that he was some kind of cruel, twisted fantasy for others to use as a crutch. She never believed in fate either. But destiny brought Tig to the phone last night, brought him and his Harley to Pope to pick her up. Christ. How could Book think that Tig had ill intentions? How could her father believe that?

"Baby." Tig murmured, standing uneasily behind her. "Talk to me."

Mattie turned to face him. Her gaze roamed over his body, the tall frame, the lean muscles that surely hid under his grey thermal, the curly hair that flopped over his forehead. She'd never noticed it before, but he was quite handsome. More than just dangerously sexy. His lips had this sort of perma-smirk on them; the hook of his nose was not as severe as Mattie once thought. And there were those eyes. Those unexpected, dazzling blue eyes. They sparkled with concern, concern for her. Tig cared about Mattie. She'd never noticed that before, either.

"Baby." He repeated, more quietly, "_Baby_."

She didn't know why he was calling her that. He used doll or darlin' or the occasional sweetheart, but never baby. Tig closed the distance between them, pulling Mattie into his chest, circling her with his arms. His calloused hands- the same ones that held her hair while she suffered over his toilet all night- dug into her flesh, roughly but eagerly. That's what it felt like. Finally he dipped his forehead to meet hers, his skin offering an intense warmth, cradling the chill she'd been carrying since he handed her that paper.

"Talk to me. Say something." Tig pleaded, gently tipping her chin upwards.

But she couldn't. There were only thoughts, ideas, images racing through Mattie, none of them tangible enough to speak. Tig seemed to reluctantly understand, and let her bury her face back into his chest. He smelled exactly like the covers on his bed, mixed with a little bit of cigarette smoke. The scent comforted her just as much as his heavy hands holding their bodies together, as the beat of the heart through his shirt.

"Jesus Christ. I almost lost you. I almost _lost _you." He whispered into her skin, just as Mattie began to sob, unable to hold it in any longer.

And it didn't scare him away. Tig kept her clutched in his arms, while she crumbled, while she let all her armor slide away. Mattie was completely vulnerable, weakness without any strength, and he didn't care. He just accepted it.

Tig said _I_ almost lost you. Not we. Not your dad, not your uncle, not the club. That meant something. Mattie could feel it in the desperate way he said the words, by the repetition. It meant more than she could possibly analyze at that very moment, more than she really cared to.

All she knew was that Tig was not the monster that her father made him out to be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I was going to post an entirely different chapter, but I decided that I wanted to rework it a little bit before putting it up. I had this written out and figured it was about time for another flashback, one that fit the 'lots of Tig' bill. Hopefully they provide a little bit of foundation for the story and aren't too boring or too long. Anyway, thanks for reading and leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

_When I was young and movin' fast_

_Nothin' slowed me down, oh slowed me down_

_Now I let the others pass_

_I've come around, oh come around 'cause I found_

_Livin' just to keep goin'_

_Goin' just to be sane_

_All the while I know it's_

_Such a shame_

_I don't need to get steady_

_I know just how I feel_

_I'm tellin' you to be ready_

_My dear_

_Tighten Up – The Black Keys_

* * *

><p>Tig followed Clay into the clubhouse, glad to be stretching his legs after such a long ride. The run had gone smoothly, nearly flawless, but the drive out to the boondocks had fucking sucked. How some of those rednecks out there preferred those gravel roads to nice, flat pavement, well, Tig had no idea. And why the Niners had chosen to go so far outside their territory for the meet up, that was also a mystery. It was late, past eleven, probably too late to drop in on Mattie. He still wasn't sure why it seemed like such a good idea to invite himself over, but the desire to poke his nose in her business was waning. There were a series of conversations they needed to have, but he was sure that neither really wanted to tackle them, not now or ever.<p>

The Prospect passed him a beer, nervously fussing with his hair as Tig stared him down. He didn't really feel threatened by Sack, not where Mattie was concerned at least, but it was fun to see the kid squirm. If Half-Sack was anxious around him, Chibs was the exact opposite. Brazen, always wearing that shit-eating grin, as though the lesson that Tig had taught him- _don't you dare mess with _my _woman_- didn't mean a thing. It didn't matter though, as long as Chibs was staying away from Mattie. Not that the Scot had a lot of opportunity to see her, she had made herself pretty scarce around the clubhouse. Maybe she got a talking to from Gemma. Tig wouldn't be surprised. The Queen was wary around newcomers, even if the one in question was Mattie.

"Hey, how's your girl? I haven't seen her around much." Clay asked, clinking his bottle against Tig's in celebration of the successful run. The Niners liked their new arsenal so much that they placed another order for the next week. Stocking up to take on their Mexican pests, Laroy had said with a disgusted grin. Didn't matter to Tig, mostly because the Niners had already paid in full to show that they were interested in continuing business far down the line.

"Beats the shit outta me, man." Tig shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. He looked down. Yuengling, Mattie's favorite. He wondered if he'd asked for it or if the Prospect just picked for him.

"Gemma said that she went over to talk to her. I'd say that my wife frightened her off, but I know Mattie too well for that. Probably just weathering the storm until Gem forgives her."

"Maybe, Clay, but in my opinion, Mattie's too cold to give a damn about reconnecting with her."

Clay shook his head, "Don't bother with that kind of thinkin', Tigger. I see what you're doin'; it's not very subtle. Matt's a good girl. The kind of woman that you need."

"I'm not doing anything. Can't I just dislike her? Besides, I've got all the women that I'll ever need right here at the club. Dirty, sexy women willing to just about anything."

"I get it. She broke your heart. It doesn't change the fact that no matter how many crow-eaters you stick your dick in; Mattie's the one in the back of your mind. She loved you, Tigger, which is a lot more than I can say for any of your cumdumpsters."

Whether Clay was his president or not, Tig was still furious. Nobody had the right to tell him what Matilda meant to him, because, Christ, he already knew. Knowing and accepting his feelings were two different things. Tig would not go down that path again. He couldn't. While he was perfectly happy knowing that Mattie was safe, close enough to protect, there was no way that Tig could handle it if she rejected him again. Six years ago, he'd been so fucking sure that he was the only man she'd ever love and then she smashed it to pieces. Tig didn't want her heart. Didn't want to give her his, either.

Mattie was the third woman he'd lost. Annie croaked, Colleen said fuck you and took his kids, and Mattie ran away. The first two he barely felt. Tig was young when Annie died, so young that he didn't quite know how to deal with it. Should he have been racked by guilt? Yes, probably, and he was, but it faded so quickly that Tig was sure that there was something wrong with him. His soul should've ached for Annie for the rest of his life, but it forgot about the tall blonde woman in a matter of months. Tig had found it so easy to close the part of him that missed her, to hide it from those around him. Colleen had been a means to an end, a girlfriend that he hadn't intended to get pregnant. She was a decent mom, Tig had to give her that, sensible enough to take the twins out of his grasp so that he couldn't fuck them up. They were five when Colleen split, and Dawn and Fawn didn't know their father well enough to fear him. That was good at least. And then there was Mattie. It had been so good, so perfect, during those years she gave to him, not asking for anything in return. A needier woman would've demanded a whole commitment, an engagement ring, a crow; but Mattie didn't even allude to any of it. She simply existed within the barriers of his life, living her own under his watch. Happy to be by his side.

And then he ruined everything. It haunted him, remembering her face on that night, the way that her eyes probed him for answers that her lips would never demand. Why hadn't she questioned him? Why didn't she react at all? Tig would've known that he was dangerously close to losing her. He should've seen how Mattie secured all her messy emotions, hiding them away. She'd never been like that, not around him. Perhaps that was why Tig knew that she loved him- she trusted him with her own vulnerability. Nobody else got the same kind of access to her inner workings, not even her father. Mattie was a whole person around Tigger, and then she disappeared. First emotionally and then physically. She ran away to another man and there was nothing that Tig could do to stop her.

Unlike the loss of Annie and Colleen, Mattie's absence _hurt_. He couldn't explain why he was so affected, why seeing the sight of her favorite red sweatshirt abandoned on his bed made it impossible for him to ever be complete again. That stupid article of clothing meant everything to Mattie, and she gave it to him like some kind of consolation prize. Fuck her. Fuck that stupid bitch. He'd gone ballistic, tearing apart his room, searching for any more reminders of her presence. The seething rage filled his chest, temporarily replacing all the misery that had lingered there since Mattie's departure. He found CDs and photos and chapstick, chucking them into a garbage bag. Gemma had been the one to catch Tig attempting to throw everything in the dumpster. The queen took the trash from his hands and slapped him, her hand clapping against his cheek.

_"Don't you dare. You did this, Tigger. You and her fucking father, both of you. And his excuse is a hell of a lot better than yours." Gemma snarled, a single angry tear rolling down her cheek. "I didn't love her just to lose her because you couldn't handle your insecurities." _

_ "Well then maybe you should've kept a better rein on her. Taught her that it was pretty damned irresponsible to go about fucking that Hale idiot." _

_ "This is on you. Not me. And if you want to believe that she was going behind your back, go ahead, because we both know that's as far away from the fucking truth as it gets. That girl, my baby girl, _loved_ you. And you abandoned her. Exactly when she needed you most. If you're going to act like an asshole, getting shitfaced and sticking your cock inside any pussy that offers itself, do it. But don't you ever try to place the blame on me. And certainly not Mattie. You want to grieve, you want to talk, you come to me, Tigger. You want to scream, do it alone. Don't take the club with you." _

Reminded again of all the anguish Mattie had caused, Tig tried his best to swallow the fury in his throat. It wouldn't do to put Clay through the table just because Tig couldn't deal with an ex. "I'm sure she was thinking about how much she loved me while screwing around with the man she left me for."

"And you were a schoolboy, huh? You should've put that crow on her when you had the chance. If you did, we'd be having a completely different conversation."

"Maybe. Doesn't change how I feel about her."

Clay tilted his head, eyeing his empty beer. "Your little lies might be more convincin' if you didn't keep lookin' at Chibs like he was the one that stole your woman. Next time, settle it in the ring. Not at a fuckin' birthday party."

"I will. It was dumb. I won't do it again."

"Yeah, I believe that. The only person that has a shorter fuse than you is Gemma." Clay retorted, knowing that his previous warning was just a formality. If something pissed Tig off, he reacted. Not always in the most intelligent way, but he always got his point across.

"Yeah, I guess. Think she's pissed about Mattie? Or just surprised?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Gem took care of that kid when Reese gave Book and the club the middle finger. She knows that there's good and bad that comes from havin' Mattie back." Clay motioned for the Prospect to bring them another round of drinks.

"Like that she'll be a distraction?" Tig asked, accepting the beer from Sack.

"The way I see it, all the former SAMCRO babies are ecstatic to be back together. Bobby wants to take her with Tahoe so that she can see his new act. She's cool with the rest of the guys, hell; Half-Sack practically follows her around. And she helped out with Lowell today, offered to watch Moby."

"And the bad?"

"That's pretty fuckin' obvious. What happened at Piney's party, for one. You can't keep having a pissin' contest with every idiot that looks at her."

"You calling Chibs an idiot?"

"Not in general, but that night, yeah. He should've taken the hint, but you gotta make a decision, Tig. You don't get to ignore her and fuck her. With a girl like Mattie, it just doesn't work that way." Clay sank back in his seat, as though he were exhausted with the topic of conversation and just wanted Tigger to agree with him.

"I don't want to deal with her shit."

"We both know that it doesn't just belong to her. Put your pride aside, Tigger. I know it's a tall order."

"What would you do in my shoes? If Gemma decided that everything got too overwhelming and bitched out and ran?"

"I can't tell you what to do, Tig. All I'm going to tell you is that you're a better man when Mattie's around. More focused, less hot tempered. I don't know what it is that she does, but it makes a difference."

"And if she can't handle the life again?"

"Matt could handle the life. The MC is the only real family she's ever had. She couldn't deal with _you_." Clay narrowed his gaze. "Kick a puppy enough times; it's goin' to bite back. Or in Mattie's case, run as far away as it possibly can."

Clay was right; Tig was just too thickheaded to admit it. Mattie wasn't perfect, and she wouldn't ever claim to be, but Tig had done some fucked up shit. Not just to her either. Hell, he _killed_ people on command. How could a woman just accept that? But Mattie always did. She understood it. Once, when he questioned her nonchalance, she replied that he needed to defend his family any way he saw fit. If Tig needed to shoot somebody to save her, to save Gemma or Clay, his brothers, Mattie would never condemn him. After all, she'd finished, everybody had blood on their hands, whether they knew it or not.

"Yeah." Tigger replied, nodding.

"Go talk to your girl. Just remember that if you break her heart again, Jax will probably try to break his foot off in your ass. He's got enough leverage to do it this time."

Clay thumped Tig on the shoulder and headed outside. The roar of his motorcycle bled into the clubhouse as Clay drove back to Gemma, leaving Tig pretty much alone. Half-Sack was cleaning up the bar, Juice was sitting on the couch with a laptop balanced on his knees, and everybody else was either out or already asleep. It was too early for Tig to hit the hay, and probably too late for him to show up at Matt's door.

His fingers flipped through the contacts in his phone, most of them denoted by initials and nicknames. Hers had only been added a few days ago, when Jax begrudgingly dictated it to Tig.

Til. As in Ma_til_da or how he'd had to wait un_til_ she was eighteen in order to fuck her- well, that was an old joke. Tig hadn't thought about it for a long time, but when he was trying think of something to mark next to her phone number, it just came to him. The other was Birdie, another ancient nickname, but Til was much more creative, in his opinion, at least.

The line rang for a little while, before connecting her voicemail. He didn't want to leave her a message. Plus, what would he say? _Sorry, it's too late to come over; I'll stop by and try to avoid talking about what we really need to talk about later._ Because that sounded real eloquent. When he hung up, tossing the phone across the table, he really didn't anticipate it vibrating back towards him, the ringer trilling loudly. Tig decided to ignore it.

He was not nearly drunk enough in case Mattie wanted to 'talk'.

* * *

><p>Mattie was stretched out on her couch; book in hands, waiting for Tigger to call her back. Part of her thought that he wouldn't, but the other part, the one she didn't like to indulge very often, wanted to hear his voice very, very badly. So, instead of going to bed- hell, wasn't like she was going to fall asleep any time soon- she just slumped into the fluff of the sofa and read. Mattie was always a night owl, using those late hours to catch up on reading or her favorite shows. It wasn't like she was an insomniac or that she needed Ambien or some shit, just that she enjoyed that narrow, peaceful strip of time between midnight and three.<p>

But it was getting late, and if it wasn't for that Harley that turned onto her street- living in Charming for the first seventeen years of life made her ears fine tuned to the noise- she would've tucked the book under her arm and headed upstairs to get ready for bed. Nerves and anticipation swirled around Mattie's chest as she headed towards the door, watching the Dyna park in her driveway. Tig's tall, leather-bedecked form nearly blended in with the dark night, but the neighbor's porch light flicked on, washing him out. He held up a hand to block the glow, before nodding towards Mattie on the porch.

"Hey," Mattie greeted, crossing her arms over her chest, "You're going to make me the most hated person on the block."

Tig leaned forward and placed a deliberate kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Yeah? Get a lot of late night visitors?"

"Oh, yeah. You're going to have to sign in and wait your turn." She retorted, closing the door behind him.

"Nope. I'll kick 'em all out. Gotta have my girl to myself."

Mattie rolled her eyes, waiting for him to tell her why he decided to show up at two in the morning. Not that the hour was a problem, just that… Christ, she didn't know. There was a headspace that Mattie needed to get into in order to deal with Tigger, because after all their time apart, she wasn't sure how to read him anymore. He acted like everything was the same; like he didn't hold her absence against her, but Mattie wasn't so sure. After what they'd been through during that last year she lived in California, there was no way that time had smoothed things over. Tig could hold a grudge- Kozik was probably still his sworn enemy, and that'd been what, seven, eight years ago?- and so could she, although she always found it harder when Tig was on the other end of her resentment. He'd saved her ass far too many time for Mattie to truly hate him.

"Your girl, huh?" Mattie asked, watching Tig collapse onto the couch, practically in the same spot and position that she'd occupied only moment ago. It made her smile, just a little bit.

He shrugged. "Ain't nobody like you, or however they say it."

"Thanks." Mattie sat in the armchair, the leather cold against her skin. "You sounded weird this afternoon."

"I don't remember."

Of course. "Okay. How'd… things go today? Jax said you guys were taking care of some shit."

"Good. Easy." Apparently, Tig didn't come over to talk, even if a serious conversation was what they really needed. Mattie wasn't surprised.

"Well… Thought you'd drop by without calling? Guess that's not really your style, though." Mattie tried to keep her tone light, but judging by the dark look that Tig cast in her direction, maybe it didn't work.

"Nah. Not really. I like to be spontaneous." He lifted an eyebrow. "Wanted to make sure you weren't hanging out with our favorite Scottish friend."

"_Tigger_." She sighed. "First of all, you don't get to decide who I see, and second, it's not like I'm going to invite him over to my house when we've only spoken twice."

Tig sat up straighter, shimmied down to the end of the couch closer to the armchair. That action in itself made her nervous, but not nearly as nervous as the way he leaned over the arm, purposely putting his face in Mattie's line of sight. Classic Tigger trying to prove a point. If they were both standing, he'd place his hands on her shoulders, make it so that he got to control her movement, forcing the confrontation. It wasn't like he'd hit her- Mattie seemed to be the one woman that he wouldn't lay hands on- but it was Tig's way of proving that he could dominate her with very little effort.

"We really gonna play that game, babe? Really?" Tig asked, voice low. "You and me… it's a done deal. Even if you were with some other asshole when you were in New York."

As much as she wanted to deny it, the fact of the matter was that she and Tigger were intricately twined together, and no amount of untangling ever freed them from one another. Sometimes, the concept was reassuring. Other times, frustrating. And now… Mattie wasn't sure.

"The one that I cheated on, with you?" Mattie raised an eyebrow.

"If anything, you were cheating on me, with him." Tigger replied. "Half-Sack had the TV on this morning, watching one of those fruity talk shows. It was about some asshole psychiatrist who'd just gotten dumped by his longtime fiancé. Guess what her name was?"

Goddamn it. Patrick couldn't wait more than a month to start promoting his latest book with their pseudo-heartbreak? He was one of those sappy, self-help authors always preaching about keeping yourself open for love. _Love yourself and love will come to you. _Ugh. Two books ago, he wrote about their story- very, very loosely, of course, with all the details either made up or so convoluted that nobody would be able to trace them back to the Sons- how he rescued Mattie from a life of crime and showed her what a relationship could really be. What he didn't include however, was how he'd been physically and emotionally absent for six years. Mattie was very grateful that he paid for her education, no questions asked, and that he gave her a credit card and an allowance, but it also made her feel like she was another one of his children. It also didn't help that he spoke to Mattie as if she were a child. No matter how many birthdays she celebrated with him, Patrick regarded her as a naïve little girl. Which was as far from the truth as it could possibly get. Growing in up in the world that Mattie did, well, saying that she was mature was an understatement. But Patrick always managed to downplay her past.

Perhaps the first time that Mattie truly resented him, resented her choice to be with him, was when he belittled her family. Called Book a lousy father for letting his daughter spend her formative years with criminals. Said that all her friends were stupid for not getting out of Charming like she did. Mattie just remembered getting up from the table, hands shaking, teeth ground together to keep from screaming, before she headed into their bathroom. She wouldn't react in front of Patrick, lest he decided to throw some shrink-speak at her. But she was fucking pissed. Nobody, fake husband or not, got to say those things about her family. Book was a great father, and Mattie didn't think she could've had a safer childhood. Those criminals looked out for their own. Her friends, the SAMCRO babies and Donna, they weren't stupid. None of them were unintelligent for their allegiance to Charming, to the MC. But she couldn't say that to Patrick. Mattie just kept her mouth shut, spent a few stormy minutes alone in the bathroom, and then painted on a faux-smile and went back to dinner. Patrick never knew the difference. Because psychiatrist or not, he was the most obtuse person she ever met.

At least when it came to Mattie, or his kids. He was the type of father that let his children do whatever they wanted, threw some money at them and hoped for the best. Luckily, their mother was the exact opposite, so Maya and Seth were halfway well behaved. Probably not to Gemma's standards- a surefire way to get a smack to the back of the head was to forget to say please or thank you- but they weren't the sort of rebellious idiots that might be featured on a CW show. Mattie actually got along with them, even if Seth was only six years younger than she was- almost the same age as George, disturbing as that thought was. She lived with them for a little while, before Patrick let Mattie's 'criminal' past slip to his ex-wife, and then it was an out of state college for Seth and boarding school for Maya.

If there was one thing that Mattie knew how to do, it was taking care of other people. Not that Patrick's ex decided to ask or anything.

"Lemme guess. Her name was Matilda?" Mattie tried not to sigh again.

"Yeah. Weird coincidence, right?" His glance was dark. "Said that she- you- cheated on him. Left him for another man. That true?"

Mattie met his gaze. "Maybe. Not sure yet."

And she wasn't. Her relationship with Tig was tense at the best of moments. It wasn't like she was expecting to be swept right back into his open arms. Charming, despite its' name, was not a place of fairytales. Hell, Tigger was no storybook prince. He killed, and he fought, and he fucked, none of which were particularly glamorous. But Mattie didn't need glitz. She didn't need to be Grace Kelly. Mattie was raised in the club, and therefore, she wasn't your typical girl. Book tried his best to make her childhood as normal as possible, but considering that he was a member of an outlaw MC, that was pretty much unachievable. And Mattie didn't care. Her childhood was untraditional, filled with hard lessons and a lot of scrapes, but she wouldn't trade it. There was a multitude of people that cared about her and that she cared about, that she wouldn't have necessarily had if she'd been raised the way Reese wanted.

It wasn't something that a lot of people understood. Just like her and Tig. Their little trysts were beyond comprehension, even to Mattie sometimes.

"Do you regret that time we fucked in New York?" His sudden question made Mattie freeze for a second. Why would he ask something like that? Especially in the way he asked, as though he were worried about her answer.

"No. Of course not. Tig…" Mattie trailed, not knowing how to finish her sentence. "We ended things a really shitty note. And I'm not a kid anymore."

"Yeah." He nodded, reaching out to put a palm against her cheek. The movement was too tender, too uncharacteristically sweet. Mattie wanted to recoil and ask what the fuck he thought he was doing, but the pressure of his calloused hand was more comforting than she anticipated. "Don't think that the past couple years were the happiest of my life."

"Didn't say they were." She replied somberly.

"You know, a long time ago, I thought that this was going to be one decent fuck and that's all. Guess that was a goddamn stupid idea." Tig smirked. "It was pretty decent, though. Right?"

"Yes, but we had better." Mattie replied, trying not to blush. She's been so fucking nervous the first time, so afraid that either she wasn't going to be experienced enough or that somebody would walk in. And there was the issue of the size of his dick, which through rumor and gossip, sounded like it had pretty epic proportions. Christ, though, it'd been good. Screaming-out-loud, sheets-bunched-in-her-hands, fingers-pulling-at-his-hair good.

"That's true. New York was pretty great. Would you call that make-up sex?"

"No, more like we-haven't-had-sex-in-six-years sex. Multiple rounds, in fact." Mattie answered candidly.

"Know what?" The smile on his face made it much too clear what he wanted to discuss.

"What, Tigger?"

"I'm actually pretty horny right now. Talking about this, coupled by what you started and didn't finish this morning, well, I could definitely go."

"I didn't start anything. I'm pretty sure half-mast is your natural state." Mattie said, feeling that familiar swell of desire between her legs. She'd been the littlest bit sleepy until a few moments ago, and now… well, goddamn it.

"Maybe it is, around you at least. Walking around with those perky tits showing, tight jeans making your ass look ridiculous-in the best way- Jesus, Matt, what do you expect? I ain't a gentlemen. You wanted that, you chose the wrong guy. You want the fuck-you-into-oblivion, make-you-feel-so-good-that-you-end-up-worshiping-his-cock guy, I'm the right choice."

"Oh? So what kind of girl does that make me? If I jump into bed with you the second I come back to Charming? The slutty girl? The desperate one?" As much as Mattie would love to consummate their relationship, to have that admittedly large dick inside her, there was so much damage between them. All those weak fractures were still visible, one wrong move and things would collapse. Christ, she was lucky as hell that Tigger still wanted to talk to her, let alone fuck her. After what they'd done to each other, it was a miracle that they were on such good terms.

"It makes you _my_ girl." Tig growled pleasantly, although his face was falling. "Unless you're too good to fuck the criminal now."

"That's not true, and you know it."

But Tigger had already stood, his boots heavy across the hardwood floor. He hadn't even been in her house twenty minutes and she already did something to piss him off. Now, that had to be some sort of record, even for them. Did Tig understand that as much as she loved him- which she did, even after six years- there was no way she was going to put him back into a situation where he could hurt her again? Not so soon at least. Because if they did take things to the bedroom, who said that he wouldn't leave the moment after he came, that she wouldn't be just another one of the whores he fucked everyday. Mattie trusted him to protect her; she knew that she'd always be physically safe around Tig, but emotionally… That was another thing altogether. Tig was good at so many things, but fidelity really wasn't one of them.

Mattie might be his girl, but there was no way she'd be allowed to declare Tig her man. It didn't work that way, not without a crow. Tig would never give her one, an idea that she had to get readjusted to. And sex would just make everything complicated.

As strange as it was to think about, the last time that Mattie had a faithful boyfriend, she was sixteen. Strange fucking depressing. It didn't mean she wanted David Hale again, far from it.

"Why can't sex between us just be casual? Fun?" Tig fumed, running a hand through his curls. "Why does it always gotta be a 'thing'?"

"Because you care about me more than you want to admit. Because there are certain things we need to talk about, things that are painful and awkward. Because we both know that this is more than sex, much as we'd like to deny it. I sleep with you and it makes things weird. Not just for us, but at the club. Does strange things to your head, and to mine. I don't want to distract you, Tig. Let this-" Mattie motioned between them, "settle, and we'll see where the shit lands."

Tig snarled, frustrated. "I always liked you Matt, because you didn't make things complicated. We were easy. No thinking involved."

"That's not true. I was seventeen when this began, and it started out real hard. Got simpler as time went along, remember?" Mattie stood, put a hand on his chest, trying to soothe him just a little bit. "I love you, Tigger, but Christ, sometimes that's not enough."

There was a sharp intake of breath when Tig's expression finally softened. "Okay. What-fucking-ever."

Despite his words, he was smiling. Maybe her little declaration- as obvious as it was to Mattie- was enough to make things a little bit better for the time being.

Tig leaned in for a kiss, before departing towards the door. His lips were hard, with the sort of unyielding force that Mattie had long ago become accustomed to. Because Tigger liked to control the sort of rough intimacy that they had, and hell, Matt didn't really mind.

As the Harley went down the street, all Mattie could think of what how much she'd missed that sound in New York.

And how badly her neighbors must hate her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I meant to post this yesterday, but I really had to tweak the second half. I added it much after I wrote Tig's part, and they didn't really jive without some major changes. Hopefully, it all turned out okay. The next chapter will probably be another flashback, since I'm really enjoying writing those. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

_I don't know you_

_But I want you_

_All the more for that_

_Words fall through me_

_And always fool me_

_And I can't react_

_And games that never amount_

_To more than they're meant_

_Will play themselves out_

_Falling Slowly – The Swell Season_

* * *

><p>Gemma watched the three of them standing under the clubhouse awning, feeling the maternal glow spread through her chest, warming her despite the chilly temperatures. Jax and Opie flanking Mattie on either side, the three children looking at the yard in amazement. But they weren't quite children anymore, not at nineteen and seventeen. The thought made her heart hurt, as she remembered all of them with their cherubic faces, how their tiny hands would reach for her, how they needed her. The trio didn't need her so much anymore. Jackson and Ope were almost completely integrated into the club; Mattie was about ready to apply to college. Their childhoods were either over or nearly there. The role that Gemma Teller-Morrow held for the past nineteen years was coming to end, whether she liked it or not. After Mattie, there were no more children to raise. No more SAMCRO babies. Not until the babies had babies, and well, Gemma didn't know if she was quite desperate enough for that.<p>

But there they were, all clustered together, watching snow fall from the sky for the first time in their lives. Sure, the winter sometimes brought flurries before rainstorms, but never a blanketing like this. The temperature dropped, the ground had frozen, and the snowflakes were falling at an alarming rate. An inch or two had already accumulated, but Gemma's three were still outside, staring at the weather as though it had brought something magical. And maybe, it did, because Gemma's three suddenly looked ten years younger. All the astonishment in those young eyes that watched as the snow kept piling, as it filled in all the little crevices in the pavement, as it got caught in tree branches. Her kids were completely mystified. Yeah, _her_ kids. Because the credit could not really go to anybody else.

That morning, when it was forecast that the weather might get pretty terrible, Clay made a judgment call. All the Sons and friends of Sons that were in town- the other SAMCRO trio, Book, Bobby and Otto, had been sent on a run day before yesterday- needed to head to club until the storm was over. Not exactly a lockdown, just a precaution. Never knew what kind of shit could happen, that's what her husband had said. And even though it wasn't actually his intention, it was nice and cozy having the whole family in one place while the snow fell. Half the men were camped in front of the television, some were with the croweaters, and the rest were shooting the shit at the bar. And Gemma's kids were outside, marveling at nature. She'd shoo them back inside eventually, but for now, they could stay.

Jax had his arm around Mattie's shoulders, their sides pressed together. Gemma knew that it was a brotherly embrace, that there was nothing going on between the pair, but a mother could wish. That girl was perfect for her son. Mattie understood the life, understood Jackson, and even loved him, just not in the right way. _We just don't click like that, Ma. She's my baby sister_. Instead, Jax had picked Tara, fell ass over feet, and got his heartbroken. Christ, he still walked around with that wounded look in his blue eyes, and it killed Gemma. That little bitch hurt her son. Tara thought that she was too good for him, too good for Charming, and she walked all over Jackson on her way out. Tried to get him to leave. Fuck her. Stupid skank couldn't get Jax to quit on his family, and ended up tearing him up in the process. His only respites from the pain were getting more involved with the club and spending time with his two best friends. Clay said that the kid would get over his first love eventually, but Gem wasn't so sure. Jax had a hole in him, a big gaping wound that might always exist. Jax was her son. When he ached, so did she. It wasn't a problem that a mother could fix, though. Only time patched fissures like that.

"Look at the proud mama and her three little chicks." Luann's voice crept over Gemma's shoulder, as did a French-manicured hand. "They look cute."

"Don't they?" Gemma commented, looking at the vodka cranberry her friend held. "Worried about your man?"

"Him riding in this shit, it ain't good. And Bobby's big ass on slippery pavement? Won't end pretty, I'm telling you. I hope they have the sense to wait out the worst."

Gemma squeezed her friend's wrist in reassurance. "They're three of the most sensible men in the club. I'm sure they'll be fine. Now, come on, help me in the kitchen."

Luann was cutting vegetables while Gemma stirred a large pot of stew, the kind of stick-to-your-ribs food a frosty day called for. Probably not the best idea for her friend to be handling a large knife after ingesting what was probably a large amount of Stolichnaya, but Gemma was short on help. Guess the sweetbutts were too cold to crawl out of whatever drug dens they resided in. Too bad for them.

"Still working on Jax and Mattie?" Luann asked, looking up from the cutting board for a moment. "You know that ain't gonna happen with you meddling."

"The hell it won't. My son just needs to open his eyes and see the fucking possibilities."

"You're a regular Oprah, Gem, you know that?" Luann teased. "And how do you know that Book would even go along with your plan?"

"Because Mattie and Jax are only two years apart, not two fucking decades." Gemma retorted. "And Jax and Tigger are completely different people."

Luann smirked. "This might be completely wrong, and it probably is, but… do you think that Tig has been acting strange lately?"

"Tig is a freak. Tigger is always strange." Gemma retorted, dumping a bag of potato chips into a bowl. "I'll be right back."

She handed the snacks to Piney, who was watching television with his usual bottle of tequila. The boys were watching some black-and-white western, mostly quietly, except for Kyle Hobart, who'd asked three questions in the short time that Gemma hovered. Piney's irritation seem to grow with every word Kyle spoke, as did his alcohol intake. Nerves were going to grow short soon, she thought, but the storm wasn't showing any signs of stopping.

Gemma turned to go back to the kitchen, but something momentarily distracted her. A body stood in the same spot she'd occupied only a little while ago, hand against the foggy windowpane, fingers spread as though they could grasp something through the glass. Tigger. Maybe Luann was right for a change. He should be back in his dorm, making some croweater squeal while he got his jollies off, only coming out for dinner and to take a piss. But there Tig was, either watching the snow or the SAMCRO babies, and really, either one was very out of character. For a man that always treated those children with a sort of aloofness, as though it were fine that they existed so long as they didn't get in his way, he was certainly paying them a lot of attention. It made Gemma the smallest bit wary.

She was the kind of woman who could always see the undercurrent, who could always spot what everybody else missed. Clay called it her sixth sense, but Gemma knew it was just perceptiveness. And she knew these men, knew how they thought, how they operated, so whenever she noticed something abnormal, it struck a chord of agitation within her. Because anomalies in personalities meant that focuses got shifted, and that was dangerous.

She'd have to keep a closer eye on Tigger.

* * *

><p>"Get up." A breathy voice pressed itself into Mattie's ear. "Wake up, baby girl."<p>

Blearily, she opened one eye, finding Jax's aqua-colored orbs staring into her. For a moment, she wondered where she was, before remembering that she'd slept at the club, her and Jax and Opie all congregating in Book's dorm to watch something other than old westerns and to drink a bottle of peppermint schnapps that they'd filched from behind the bar. It was disgusting, and Mattie's mouth still tasted vaguely of candy canes, but the night ended up being fun anyway. They boys had originally said she could have the bed to herself, however, somehow Opie's back was against into hers, and she was nearly chest-to-chest with Jax. Floor probably got uncomfortable, Mattie figured, although she couldn't help but feel the littlest bit overcrowded.

"What time is it?" She asked, trying to maneuver the pillow under her head, just to find that it was also under Opie's as well.

"Little after nine. Mom's making us breakfast." Jax tucked a curl behind her ear.

"So none of Jackson's famous stale coffee and burnt toast?"

"Very funny." He threw an arm over Mattie to jostle Opie out of his slumber. The gentle giant startled for a moment before rolling over.

"The fuck?" Opie groaned.

"Come on, both of you. You won't believe it." Jax coaxed, and Mattie sat up once Jax slid out of the narrow bed. The mattress had felt much wider last night, when she was the only one curled up atop it. Mattie pulled the comforter away from Opie, draping it over her shoulders as she trotted into the hallway after Jackson, wondering what had him so worked up at such an early hour. The blonde was normally one of those people who would sleep until noon if you let him. She and Ope were the early birds.

A draft drifted around Mattie's feet as she stuck her head into the kitchen, looking at Gemma and Luann tend to pancakes and bacon. The Queen smiled at her, raising her spatula in greeting.

"I told Jax to let you both sleep, but guess he didn't listen. Go ahead, go humor the boy before he shits himself." Gemma gestured towards the main area of the clubhouse.

Jax had the front door wide open, inviting the chill inside. Mattie was about to say something about him catching a cold wearing just boxers and a pair of socks, but then she saw it. Holy shit. The world was completely white and shimmering, frozen and beautiful. To Mattie, snow was always something in books, in movies, but never outside her own windows. The cold wasn't even her thing, and their little corner of Northern Cali was rarely frigid. But there was something magical about the drifts of pure white out in the parking lot, the way it glittered off every surface. Mattie and the boys had watched it snow last night, watched it come down pretty heavy, but she honestly expected it to be melted by the morning. Nope. Teller-Morrow and the rest of Charming were sitting underneath a foot and half of snow, and all Mattie could do was stand and stare. She'd never been speechless before.

"Holy fucking shit." Opie's deep voice curled out from behind her, and she thought that maybe those were the words hidden inside her vocal chords.

"Yeah." Jax replied. "Yeah."

He turned towards Mattie, grinning. She had not seen him truly happy in such a long time, not since Tara left. Jax still hurt all over, no matter how many times he said it didn't matter, that he didn't care, Mattie knew it did. He loved Tara with his whole being, and she forced him to choose between their love and his family. It wasn't fair, to pick one precious thing over the other, and she remembered being irrationally afraid that Jax would abandon her, abandon his mother, the club. Mattie thought of how Reese was able to make that choice so easily, the choice to sever her own little family in two. She'd been so worried that Jax would go with Tara. He deserved to be happy, he deserved to have the girl he loved, but… Mattie still needed him. That selfish desire had made her hate herself, down to the very core. But Jax was her brother, even if their blood wasn't the same. She couldn't lose him like she lost George. Like they lost Thomas. Mattie couldn't lose any more members of her family. But she never told Jax that. He made the decision on his own, and it just happened to turn out in her favor. She never felt so shitty or so ecstatic in her whole life.

Jax reached out to Mattie, held out his fingers for her to take. He'd leaned on her more in the months since Tara went to San Diego, but never admitted it aloud. He didn't need to. Jax told her once, when he was very, very drunk, that Mattie was the second strongest woman he knew, that no matter what happened she stood tall and never broke. She was like Gemma, but quieter, softer, but not in a weak way. Mattie didn't agree with him. It was an act, a routine that she used to close herself off, to protect herself from outside aggressions. To Mattie, it was easier to pretend that the uncomfortable emotions didn't exist, rather than succumb to them. She didn't process them, didn't acknowledge them, just closed her eyes and hoped that they wouldn't be there when she opened them. Instead of making her numb, the process made every feeling that much more acute. Happiness, heartbreak, it didn't matter. Mattie couldn't do it for very much longer. Eventually, she would burst.

And maybe she had, just a little bit, at Tig's apartment. When he showed her that article, the one about that deadly car accident, maybe that's when everything caught up to Mattie. The thought that she was alive, when she was supposed to be dead… it fucked with her head. Every breath she inhaled and exhaled was one that didn't belong to her. She used to walk around like she was dead, like all the excess emotions might kill her, and for the first time in seventeen years, Mattie was thinking, well, perhaps they wouldn't. Things floated just beyond her fingertips, sensations that Mattie would normally catch and couch, but she let them bobble to the surface. She allowed more than just a small batch of people to get close. She allowed him, to get closer. Tig. He'd saved her. She would've ended up that Jetta wrapped around a telephone pole if he hadn't agreed to come and get her in Pope. Mattie was alive, and it was because of him.

They never spoke about it; her story never reached the papers, because everyone that knew she was there simply didn't exist anymore. Nobody at the club remembered a girl in an purple dress either, and that was perfectly fine with Mattie. After the astonishment that she'd narrowly avoided meeting the reaper, Tig took Mattie to get her car, and then it was over. Mattie was back to being Mattie, Tig was back to being Tig. Book still didn't let the two within ten feet of another without a chaperone, and they didn't tell him what happened. They hadn't talked about it, either. His arms wrapped around her in his bathroom, her face pressed into the planes of his chest, it was all erased. Mattie and Tig regarded each other with cool disinterest, even if it was beginning to hurt her, just a little bit. She wouldn't call it a crush, they weren't real feelings, Mattie was just… grateful. That was all.

_I almost lost you_. What did that mean? Why had Tig chosen to say it like that? Mattie might've understood it coming from her father, Bobby, hell, Jax even, but not Tigger. She wasn't his. Maybe he just felt responsible for her well being. It was all so fucking confusing, and as much as Mattie knew that she was reading into things, she just… Shit. She wanted… She didn't know.

She didn't know.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" Opie sighed, running a hand through his disheveled beard. The three of them were pressed inside the doorframe, oblivious to the freezing breeze that whipped past, into the clubhouse. There was no feeling, just the beauty of the scene in front of their eyes.

"Completely." Mattie murmured.

She turned for a moment, hearing footsteps. It was Tigger, no doubt on his way to figure out why the temperature in the clubhouse dropped ten degrees. His mouth was open, jaw dangerously tight, ready to yell. But then her eyes met his unbelievably blue pair, and his lips fell into the tiniest smile.

When he walked into the kitchen, Mattie couldn't help but feel a little bit special.

And she had no idea why.

* * *

><p>Tig smoked underneath the overhang outside the club, watching the three stooges lob snow at one another. Well, that wasn't very fair; it was more like the two stooges and their lovely friend. That's why Tig was outside in the first place, to make sure that the duo of idiots didn't kill her with all their horseplay. That was the last thing that Book needed to come home to, a broken wrist or wrenched ankle because Jax tackled Mattie into a snow bank. He was playing chaperone, that was it. Nothing else.<p>

That morning, when he'd been wrenched out of sleep by a draft that simply wouldn't go away, no matter how he pulled the comforter over his shoulders, Tig was ready to explode. He was fucking pissed. Not even ten o'clock in the goddamned morning and he was wide fucking awake without a hope or a prayer of falling back to sleep. Tig was going to beat the shit out of whoever turned down the thermostat, when he saw the wide-open doorway. All he could think about was knocking heads together and putting people in their place, and then Mattie turned around. She was sandwiched between the two boys, a valley between two mountains. Tig was still ready to lash out, albeit in a quieter, less abusive way, but he saw the quiver of her eyebrows, the intake of a quick breath. A silent apology read from her hazel eyes. And suddenly… it was gone. It no longer mattered that Tig was freezing his dick off, because she was sorry, and because she was still wearing that wide, awestruck gaze that'd existed since snow first started to fall the day before. Tig was used to going from zero to sixty in less than a second, without a thought, but never the opposite way.

Tig was a man that held grudges, that didn't forgive easily. He would've been furious for the rest of the day, slinging insults at Jax and Opie, making them pay for such an early wake-up call. But all she did was flick her gaze over him, purse her lips together in a sheepish way, maybe bow her head a little, and Tig gave in. It scared the shit out of him. Women did not have that effect on him. Not even pretty little things like Mattie. Tig took what he wanted from them and didn't apologize for it. He never, ever, let one get close, because when women got near your heart, all warm and nestled against it, they had a tendency to rip it out. It had already happened to Tig twice, first with Annie's death and then when Colleen decided to divorce him and take the kids, and goddamn it, it was not going to ever happen again. Tig was impervious to that sort of shit. He didn't do love, he didn't do attachments, he just fucked. There were no relationships, no dependency. Tig lived for his club and that was it. And no seventeen-year-old was going to change that.

So, he couldn't quite explain why he was staring across the lot at her. Mattie's head was tossed back in laughter, the curve of her throat exposed. Christ. She was beautiful in a strange way, with her slightly ruddy pale skin and those wild curls, the ones that were swinging around in her ponytail as she ran away from Opie and his pretend-threats of tossing a fistful of snow at her. Sometimes, when Tig looked at Mattie, he tried to close his eyes and see the girl that he picked up from Pope that night, the one whose eyes were lined in black and whose body nearly spilled out of a dress that practically begged to be ripped off by his hands. He couldn't reconcile that vision with the one giggling in the parking lot. Was it a mistake to see her like that? To know that she wasn't the child that everybody insisted she was? Yeah, Tig grumbled, stabbing out his cigarette into the pavement. He should go inside, watch the Chargers game with everybody else, but he just lit another one and settled in.

"Can I bum one?" Gemma asked, and Tig tried his best not to startle. He'd been so focused on the three in the yard- Mattie- that he hadn't noticed the Queen coming outside to join him.

"Sure, sweetheart. They're not your menthols, though." He handed her a Marlboro, lighting it between her lips.

"It's okay. I started the weekend with a full pack, but I guess I went through them all. Not about to run out in this mess." She cleared her throat. "What are you doing, Tigger?"

"Smoking and getting some fresh air." He retorted. "Same as you."

"No. Don't play cute with me. You know that Book will start shit again if you go near that girl. You're lucky he's on a run, because there would be Tigger blood all over the snow right now, and all you're doing is staring." She raised her eyebrows dangerously, daring him to challenge her.

But Gemma didn't know what bizarre incident passed between him and Mattie. That a simple decision to shove a whore out of his bed and drive to Pope, the decision not to be a selfish dick for once, and he inadvertently saved Mattie's life. It wasn't like he stepped in front of a bullet for the girl; he just… drove a couple miles and let her sleep in his bed. Yeah, she'd started out on the couch, but after her running in the bathroom every five minutes to puke her goddamn guts out, eventually she just passed out on top of his covers. Tig didn't have the heart to move her. Or at least, that's the excuse he used to convince himself that it was okay to have a seventeen-year-old sleepover. Yeah, Gemma's implications were right. Tig had a hell of a perverted streak, but maybe things were going a little bit too far.

Mattie was smart, and he knew that she wasn't going to stay in Charming forever. She was going to go to college, graduate, start a career. Maybe get married and have kids. Neither Book nor Mattie was going to let Tig get in the way of that. And Tig hadn't even figured out if he wanted anything from her. Christ, maybe he just wanted to fuck her because she was forbidden, because had fantasies involving that virginal little body- if she even was a virgin. The only person she'd ever been serious with was Hale, and Tig couldn't see that boy scout wanting to get down and dirty. It'd fuck with his squeaky clean reputation. And who said that Mattie would be even remotely attracted to Tig? She was probably twenty goddamn years younger than him, and a hell of a lot prettier. Probably saw him as some sort of father figure or some shit. Hell, Gemma was always preaching about how the MC was family, Mattie probably thought the same way.

Why the fuck was he thinking about this so hard? Why the fuck was Mattie in his head?

Because the indestructible, unflappable girl broke down, and broke down hard. At first, when Mattie had that mesmerized look in her eyes, still sorting through the realization that she shouldn't be breathing, Tig was sure that she was just going to suck it in and cover it up with one of trademark it's-all-okay smiles. But then he touched her, wrapped his arms around her and felt her tremble, and he knew that Mattie was too overwhelmed to push him away. She fell apart and let him see it. It felt like… trust. The only people that had that sort of faith in him were his brothers and Gemma.

"Do you remember the car accident that happened a couple months back, end of October? All the regional papers called it a town wide tragedy?" Tig asked quietly, watching as Jax pressed a handful of snow into Mattie's hood. She just laughed and sprinted after the blonde, but Tig couldn't help gritting his teeth.

"The one with all those high school girls in Mattie's class? Yeah, why?" Gemma blew a smoke ring into the frigid air.

"Did you know that Mattie was with them that night? At the nightclub in Pope?" There. It was out.

"What?" Her jaw dropped the slightest bit. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Tigger?"

He lifted his eyes to the Queen's. "Before she got in the car, she called the club, asking for Book. When he wasn't there, the Prospect gave the phone to me. Mattie said that if Book wasn't there, not to worry, she'd go with the girls and pick her Civic up in the morning. I said no, I'll go and get you. And I did. That's why we didn't need to plan a funeral last fall."

"Holy shit." Gemma lifted a hand to her face, thoughtfully. "Why didn't she tell Book? Why the hell didn't _you_ tell Book?"

"Because… I don't know. I don't think it would make a difference to him, plus she-"

"Goddamn it, Tig, you just couldn't keep your dick from doing the thinking for you? You fucked Mattie? Christ, you fucked her, didn't you?" Her voice had dropped dangerously low. Mattie was the closest thing that Gemma had to a daughter, and Tig watched disgust fill her features. "You use protection at least?"

"I didn't touch her! Swear to God, I didn't go near her. We both figured that it would be a bad idea for me to show up on Book's doorstep with his drunken daughter, in case it made him jump to conclusions. You know?" Tig narrowed his eyes. "I promise Gem, I'm not going to violate your little angel. If I was going to, I'd have done it that night, and I didn't. So nobody needs to fucking baby-sit me anymore."

The Queen pursed her lips, and turned her attention to the parking lot. The trio had given up their games, and was now collapsed in the snow, passing a joint back and forth. Silence had fallen, just the occasional flicker of the SAMCRO babies' conversation traveling across the yard. They looked content, even Jax. Tig wondered whether they'd noticed him and Gemma loitering under the overhang.

"So… what it is then? If isn't about pussy, then why have you been out here for the better part of an hour?"

"I told you, I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to have a peaceful smoke."

Gemma took a glance at all the fresh cigarette butts on the ground. "Or a half-a-fucking-dozen, Tig. Go inside and watch the game. We both know that shit with the club gets real complicated if your head gets all shook up. Whatever fucked up feelings you have, you need get over them. You cause problems with Book and Bobby if you keep looking at her like that." She wrenched his chin, forcefully directing his gaze towards her. "And me, Tigger. You don't stop, you start shit with _me_. Don't forget that I raised her. And you know that I will do anything to protect my children."

"Don't worry. I'll stay away from your babies." Tig growled, thoroughly pissed off. There were words poised in the back of his throat, words that were too venomous to speak aloud, especially to the Queen. Something about her stealing other women's children. Because Mattie belonged to Gemma before Reese was even close to leaving Charming. Not that he was trying to call Reese a decent mom, because she wasn't, but she might've tried a little harder had Gemma not stepped in.

"Good. Tell my babies that I've got hot chocolate on the stove for them, would you? I'm freezing my tits off." Gemma gave him one last appraising look, then kissed his cheek as if to say that her warnings weren't personal, that if it'd been anybody else she'd have said the same thing.

Jesus fucking Christ. Everybody acted like they knew exactly what was going on in his brain, kept telling him what to do about it. Who said he had feelings for Mattie, that those sorts of feelings were even possible for him? Tig saved her life and what; they were off to get married? He expected Gemma to be the littlest bit grateful, because, like she said with her own goddamn mouth, Mattie was basically her daughter. She spent more nights out of the week at Gemma's than she did at her own goddamn house. And if Book was father of the fucking year, why'd he spend so much time at the club drowning himself in a keg of Heineken? Because of Reese? That bullshit was old news, and the man needed to get over it already. Tig didn't have either of his children, at least Book had one.

He'd reached the trio before he registered it, standing above them with nothing to say. Jax raised an eyebrow in a manner eerily similar to his mother's, and nodded upwards, as if asking what the fuck he wanted.

"Gem says she's got hot chocolate or some shit for you." Tig barked. The two boys grinned devilishly- no doubt excited that mom was still taking care of them like they were nine instead of nineteen- but Mattie lingered by his side, peering through her thick lashes to catch his expression.

"You know what the score is? Piney was supposed to keep me updated." Mattie asked, letting Opie and Jax get a little bit ahead of them.

"I'm not sure. Last time I looked, Chargers were up by seven, but that was just before halftime." Couldn't she have some girly interests, like ballet or synchronized swimming? Not that he was put-off by her taste in sports, just… he didn't know. He was looking for excuses to get her out of his head.

"What was Gemma yelling at you about?"

"You heard her?"

"No, just could sort of tell by the way that she was standing. That's the pose that you get right before she flips her lid. Usually, she just uses it with Jax. Must've been a special occasion." Her teasing tone was just light enough not to irritate him.

"Yeah. Not important." Tig stopped for a second, ran a hand through his hair. He needed to tell her. "I know that we had… a moment, in October, when all that shit happened, but it's got to stop. Gemma is suspicious; Book is on edge all the goddamn time. We have to stop pretending like we can be friends or some shit. You're a fucking kid, Mattie. People are going to read into things that just aren't there, you know?"

Tig should've been more blunt, told her to stay the hell away from him, but he couldn't. Because her face was already falling, smile fading into confusion. Then he saw the swap, the flicker as Mattie switched her mild dismay for placidity, as though trying to show him that it didn't really matter at all. She froze him out in a matter of seconds.

"Okay." Mattie shrugged and then grinned. "I'm going to go check on the Chargers."

There was relief as the door shut behind her; the severance of whatever tendril of affection had been tethering them together. He'd get Mattie out of his head soon enough.

Right?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I totally know that it doesn't really snow where Charming is supposed to be located. (Well, I checked the wikipedia entry for San Joaquin County and it told me, since I live pretty much on the opposite side of the country.) But I decided to take a little liberty with the weather. Hopefully it's not totally distracting. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: So these two chapters don't really go together, per se… but I like keeping the posts longer. Well, just a disclaimer before you read, so the jump in between isn't too confusing.**

* * *

><p><em>I will remember your face<em>

'_Cause I am still in love with that place_

_But when the stars are the only things we share_

_Will you be there? _

_Atlas Hands – Benjamin Francis Leftwich_

* * *

><p>Donna sat at Mattie's kitchen table, trying not to complain. She'd been whining for the better part of an hour, although her friend didn't seem to mind. Mattie just kept murmuring her agreement in the right places, all while standing above her stove and fiddling about with pots and pans. It was pure heaven not having to worry about dinner, since Mattie had declared early on in the day that she'd make a large meal and send the leftovers home for Opie and the kids. At least Donna wouldn't have to worry about stretching what little they had left of Ope's paycheck.<p>

"I know what I saw. If Opie's blowing stuff up again for the good of the club, I swear to God, I'm going to kick his ass." Donna groaned, not able to stop herself.

"Are you sure that's what it was for? Maybe he was just cleaning up so that the kids wouldn't get into his things."

"I'm not an idiot. I freaked out, in front of Ellie and Kenny, too. Must've looked like a lunatic." She shook her head. "Opie talked to Jax, then my husband told me I had to bring my kid to the emergency room for a make believe injury. Like we can really afford a 'make believe' hospital bill."

Mattie looked over her shoulder, frowning. "See, maybe he wants to get out and he just doesn't know how. Wouldn't you rather have the bill than have Ope in jail again?"

"Sometimes, I just don't know anymore. Things weren't good when he was in Chino, but Matt, they weren't as bad as this. It was murder trying to get the kids to stay home with him today. They wanted to come with me, you know that? On a Saturday afternoon, they wanted to do anything but stay home with their father."

After flicking off a burner, Mattie replied, "They were so little when he went away. Just aren't used the idea of having him around. I was sixteen when my dad went to Stockton and it was still weird after he got out. And he was only gone for six months."

Donna sighed. She wasn't sure what to do anymore. Ellie and Kenny really did seem to be afraid of their own father, Ellie more than her brother. Opie was trying so damn hard to be gentle with her, but everything he did just pushed her further away. The kids in school still made fun of Ellie because her father had been in jail, and Donna knew that the teasing hurt her. Kids were cruel, and there was nothing she could do to change it, but she sure as hell tried. She'd talked to El's teacher, asking if she could do anything to stop the bullies, but the bitch had treated Donna with thinly veiled disdain. Telling Donna that Ellie had to stand up for herself, and that the children making fun of her were well behaved. Fuck her. Ellie hardly ever wanted to go to school any more, and that woman was part of her reluctance. And she basically told Donna that it was all Ellie's fault, all Opie's fault, and all Donna's fault for staying with him. But Donna Winston wasn't a coward. She'd paid the price for Opie's jail time, and she definitely wasn't going to start throwing up a white flag any time soon. No matter how hard things at home got. At least she always had Mattie to turn to.

How often had Donna jokingly asked Mattie to come back home? Shit, they talked on the phone a couple times a month- Mattie always said that Donna was the only one she kept in regular contact with- and every conversation ended with Donna reminding her that Charming was only a plane ride away. Then, all of a sudden, without a word of warning, she moves back? Donna could scarcely believe it when Mattie sent her a text the morning of Piney's party that said: _look outside your front door_. Donna did, thinking that her friend had sent her a package or something, but to see the familiar curl-framed face grinning back at her… Donna had been stunned for several seconds as Mattie laughed at her surprise, the noise attracting Opie's attention. Mattie and Opie had been Jax's quieter and more sensible counterparts when they were all kids, so he was just as excited to see Mattie standing in the doorframe. So excited that he called Jax over, and the four of them had their own little party before heading to the club. It had been a good night. One of the best since the day Opie got out.

And now that Donna knew that her friend- really, her best and only girlfriend- was back in Charming for good, well, that was one thing going in Donna's favor. If only she could get her family and finances in order, things would be perfect.

"What's the matter? You got quiet." Mattie asked, refilling Donna's glass of wine.

"Thinking, I guess. Worrying is more like it."

"You know that I'll help in any way I can. Whatever you need, Winston."

"I know. I'm just tired of all the charity."

"If you need me to watch the kids a couple times during the week so you or Ope can pick up an extra shift, I will. I've already got Moby." Matt offered, setting a plate of pasta in front of Donna. "That's not charity, that's babysitting."

"It's charity if you're not going to let me pay you. Let's not talk about this any more. I'm probably boring you by now." She answered, ready to change the subject. "How is that, anyway? Watching Moby?"

"Good. He's a great kid. Quiet and smart. Started poking around the piano the other day. I thought my heart was going to burst out my chest I was so excited. He asked if I could teach him how to play a song. It was so adorable, Donna."

Donna grinned. Mattie had always been good with kids. How many weekends at the mall did Mattie miss because she was babysitting the younger children at the club? "What are you going to do? Just take care of Moby until you find a real job?"

"I don't know. At first I hated being home all day, but now that I have somebody to keep me occupied, well, I don't mind it so much."

"And what about T-" Donna began, watching her friend's mouth set in a thin line. Mattie always knew what she was about to say, even after six years away.

"If you ask me about Tig, I will stab you with my fork, Winston."

"Oh, come on. I doubt I'm the first person to ask, and I deserve the most answers out of everyone, I bet. Who else you gonna pour your heart out to? Jax?"

"Jax is very sensitive when he wants to be." Mattie replied sarcastically. "And there's nothing to tell you about Tig. We've spoken a couple times, and one of those was at the party. And you saw exactly how much 'talking' took place."

Donna never understood the relationship between Tig and Mattie. Or, the Asshole and Mattie, as Donna liked to refer to him. She really had no idea how Mattie could stand being with that man. Tig seemed to have no problems switching women like he changed his underwear, always a different girl on his arm. Always a scruffy, disgusting croweater or sweetbutt. Why did Mattie put up with it? She could do so much better, Donna was sure of it. Well, Patrick had been a pretty decent guy. Mattie absolutely refused to tell Donna what was so wrong with him, why it had been so important to get away from New York. She'd just said that it was complicated and left it at that. Like she had six years ago, with the Asshole. Not that Donna had questioned that decision all that much, as far as she was concerned, Tig was never right for Mattie. Too old, too dangerous, too… emotionally distant. All Donna knew was that as glad as she was that Mattie came back to Charming, she hoped to hell that her friend wouldn't end up with the Asshole again. He was bad news. Not that Mattie would ever heed her advice. She was a 'go your own way' kind of girl, always had been.

"Yeah, he stuck his tongue down your throat. That might make it hard to have an actual conversation, which we both know you need to have." Donna replied. Mattie was the kind of person that avoided confrontation as long as humanly possible- well, at least when it was _her_ confrontation. If somebody insulted her friends or family, one could sure as shit bet Mattie wouldn't back down from that kind of fight.

"Do we? We live in the same town; we used to… date, I guess, in the loosest sense of the word. By that logic, I should now alert every other man that I ever went out with." Mattie shrugged, "We talked a little bit, but probably not about what we should've."

"Shut up, Cardinal. You know what I mean. Another man looked at you funny and the Asshole flipped out. What's going to happen if you actually want to pursue a relationship with somebody that isn't him? Your luck, he'll get my husband to blow you and your significant other sky high."

"I'm sure if I was going to get murdered, it wouldn't be so dramatic." Mattie joked, "Besides, he did more than 'look at me funny.' We flirted- once. Don't give me that look."

Donna sighed. "You lucky little bitch. I've got to start living vicariously through you more often. Jealous exes, flirty Scots. You came back to Charming to live like you're in a romance novel."

Mattie laughed, about to answer, but the doorbell rang. "Five dollars says that's your husband, ready to hand back your children."

"I'm not going to take that bet. It's far too obvious." She threw down her napkin. "I'll come with you."

Opie probably had club business to attend to, which meant that he and Donna were going to have a long conversation later. How many times did she need to tell him that enough was enough? The MC wasn't Opie's family, she was. And Ellie and Kenny. Why weren't they ever enough? Why did the Sons get his full attention and all his loyalty? Donna loved Opie, but sometimes she really hated him. Yesterday, after they'd gotten back from the fake trip to the hospital, Donna asked him if he was ever going to be able to choose between her and the club. He asked her if she'd ever be able to choose between Kenny and Ellie. Thinking about his response still made her seethe, how he'd sighed afterwards and ran his hands through his beard, as though _she_ were the one taxing _him_. Donna was the one worrying about making car payments, figuring out which bill to skip so that they could pay the mortgage, getting through the week on their two measly paychecks. Opie missed hanging out with his friends and living the dangerous life.

Once, Donna had been committed to the club. Then Opie went to Chino. Now she was solely devoted to her family- her children and her husband. The MC could interpret that whatever way they wanted.

Mattie tried to look through the stained glass that surrounded the doorframe, and shook her head. "I don't think it's Ope."

Donna watched her open the door, movements slow, as if she was dreading whoever waited on the porch. Maybe it was the Asshole. That would be entertaining, at least. If Mattie didn't ask Donna to leave of course.

"Hey, David." Mattie greeted, casting a dark look back to Donna. "How are you?"

David Hale. Now, that was really weird. This dinner was quickly becoming some kind of Charming High reunion. All it needed was Jax and Opie, maybe Tara. They hadn't been one big clique back in school; it was more like David on one side, the rest on the other, Mattie darting in between. Jax hated that she was friends with Hale, that she'd been his high school sweetheart. Although, the second that David set foot on a college campus, the two broke up. No wonder Mattie looked so uncomfortable. Donna was feeling awkward, and she hadn't even been the one to go to prom with the man.

"Hi, Donna." David nodded towards her. "Got a second, Matt?"

"We're kind of in the middle of dinner, David." Mattie answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's important. And private."

"Hey, you're the one butting in. But I'll make myself scarce." What Donna really meant was _don't worry, I'll be right around the corner, listening to the whole thing_. Mattie would understand that. She always did.

She scooted off, waiting in the dining room. They'd been eating at Mattie' kitchen table, listening to music while they talked. Which Donna would have to turn off in order to hear them better. Eavesdropping was really the best way to get any information out of Mattie- she couldn't lie about something that Donna heard with her own ears. She'd try, of course, but Mattie had been her friend for so long that Donna knew exactly how to get her to talk. Even if she'd only gotten more close-lipped in the time that she spent away from Charming.

"You heard the explosion from a couple nights ago?" David asked. Donna wished she could see what his expression was.

"I did, and I read about it in the paper. So did the rest of Charming. What brings you to my house, David?" A note of irritation had invaded Mattie's voice.

"Well, then you know that the sheriffs found a ton of ammo at the Bluebird warehouse. And this morning my team and I found two bodies, burned to a crisp. That shouldn't have been in the news just yet."

"I still don't know what that has to do with me. Or you. Or am I entitled to extra information because of who my family is?"

"Mattie. We both know what that warehouse was and who it belonged to."

"No we don't." She retorted, and Donna knew that Mattie had her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted to one side. Her tell-me-what-you-want-or-get-out-of-my-face pose.

"SAMCRO has something to do with it. That's why I came here. To warn you that they're getting into some serious shit and if you get involved with them again, I'm not going to take it easy on them. Or you."

"If I get involved with Tig again. That's what you're trying to say." Mattie retorted. "And it isn't any of your business who I'm with."

"Mattie, maybe it's not, but I have your best interests in mind. I'm trying to keep you safe."

"It's not your job." Mattie sighed, before she admitted, "Okay, maybe technically it _is_ your job, but you need to treat me like any other citizen. We have history, and I get that. But we agreed. You're about to be Chief. What happened the other night was an end to our story, not a beginning. We had a time and a place, but it was ten years ago. The second you graduated. That was your choice, and you do not get to make it again."

Donna grinned. Mattie was always cautious- utterly guarded, Donna liked to say- but she was definitely good at standing her ground. As long as it didn't have to do with the Asshole, she had an unfortunately weakness for him. David hurt Mattie when she was a sixteen-year-old girl, and she didn't forget. Second chances weren't something that Matilda Cardinal took lightly. After all, it'd been more than twenty years since Reese abandoned her, and Donna knew that woman didn't stand a chance in hell of ever being forgiven. As Mattie liked to say, "nobody fucks me over and gets away with it." Donna was one a few people who knew that side of her, and it made her kind of proud. She liked that fierce side of Mattie.

"Just be careful. Okay? Do that for me. It's all I'm asking. Those men are trouble, Matt."

"I'll do my best, David. If it makes you feel better I know nothing about the warehouse, or the bodies. I swear. I'm barely involved with the MC. I see Jax, and sometimes my uncle. That's it."

"Make sure it stays that way. I can't protect you, I know that, Mattie. As much as I want to, you won't let me." There was a shuffle of activity, which sounded like Hale heading towards the door. Donna crept forward, just a little more, to better hear the end of the conversation.

"Nope. I've got it handled, Dave."

"Make sure that you tell Jax that I send my prayers for his little boy. I was really sad to hear about what happened." There was a short pause. "Are you alright? I know you two are close."

"I'm fine. Trying to stay strong for Jax. And I'll let him know. It's very sweet of you."

"I might be a cop, but I'm not as big of an asshole as your friends say I am."

"Goodbye, David."

"See you, Matt. Be careful. I mean it."

The door shut and Mattie's sigh reverberated throughout the house. Donna didn't have time to run back before Mattie made the turn into the dining room, which one had to walk through in order to get to the kitchen. To her surprise, Mattie didn't get angry; she just smiled and shook her head.

"You're the worst, you know that?" Mattie asked, sitting down in her chair.

"Eh, just watching some ex-lovers reunite." Donna teased, taking Mattie's plate and shoving it in the microwave.

"I hardly think that one can consider an sixteen-year-old and an eighteen-year-old lovers. Bumbling fools, sure. Embarrassing? Definitely."

"And what was that about something happening the other night? Did Matilda Cardinal go on a date with dashing David Hale without telling me?" Donna grinned broadly. She was so used to learning about things far after they happened that she didn't bother pointing out that she was supposed to be Mattie's best friend. Donna knew how Mattie worked. Wait long enough and you'll get the whole story.

"First of all, I had no idea if it was a date beforehand. He didn't elaborate. Luckily, he was running early, so I wasn't ready when he came to the house. I had to find out through his spiffy outfit and the choice of restaurant- which I googled to make sure that I wasn't reading into things- that we were going out. It was actually kind of nice, considering that it was the first date I'd been on in ages. And then, when he walks me to my door afterwards, he kisses me. Not the dramatic, you're-mine sort of kiss that Tigger laid on me at Piney's party, but a hey-remember-when-we-used-to-date-in-high-school-it-was-so-nice-let's-try-it-again-but-not-really-because-it-would-be-way-too-complicated kind of lip lock. So forgive me if I wanted to forget about it."

"I didn't know that one kiss could say so much. Really. I've been married for ten years, so maybe things have changed since my day, but I think you're bugging out just a little."

"Hey, I thought you came over to talk about your real-people problems, not my sad, stupid ones." Mattie pointed out, draining her glass of wine.

"I like your problems. Let's switch." Donna replied.

"Opie and the kids might notice if I came home instead of you. Plus, I was a terrible wife, so you might not want to give me that responsibility."

Donna smiled. Just when she thought she knew everything, there was a little more that Mattie hadn't told her just yet. She'd never admit it to Mattie, but her 'sad' and 'stupid' problems were a great distraction from Donna's. Especially since she knew that the moment she went back home, they'd all come barreling back down to rest on her shoulders.

Mattie might say that she understood Donna's newfound dislike of SAMCRO, but she didn't exactly believe her friend. Donna didn't grow up in the life like Mattie had, her father was a banker and her mother was an administrative assistant, both of whom now lived further south. It was their attempt to separate themselves from Donna's life, the criminal life that they were convinced she chose just to spite them. They paid for the wedding and let her go. It was too painful, her mother said, to know that their daughter made a bad decision that was going to affect not just her, but her children.

Donna would never, ever admit that Chelsea Lerner had been right.

* * *

><p>Mattie locked her car door before wandering through the entrance to Fun Town. It was a hair past four, and for a second, Matt wondered if she'd made the right decision in agreeing to meet Tig there. Especially when it took her far longer than normal to get ready, even though she knew it was a jeans-and-a-t-shirt kind of affair, because she was so damned nervous about looking completely out of place. New York City still clung to her like a second skin, no matter how badly she wanted to be rid of it. The City was everywhere, in her clothing, in her tastes, in her voice. The look on Donna's face as Mattie asked if she wanted a cup of 'caw-fee' had been nothing less than disgusted. Mattie was embarrassed by the amalgam of sounds her in her words, of the nasal New Yorker and the tiny bit of Patrick's lilt on the tip of her tongue. It might've been more than thirty years since Patrick Muldoon set foot in his Irish motherland, but it hadn't erased his accent. He disowned Ireland like Reese disowned Mattie- without a second thought or a feeling of guilt.<p>

And so she paced in front of a cotton candy stand, waiting for Tig. The fair was already pretty crowded; so if he didn't get arrive soon, their paths didn't have any hope of intersecting. Plus, that cotton candy was starting to look pretty good. Mattie didn't know how much longer she could stand the scent of spun sugar.

"Baby girl, how you doin'?" Clay asked, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Gemma was with him, which made Mattie immediately uncomfortable. She still didn't know where she stood in Gem's eyes.

"I'm good. How are you two?"

"Not bad, sweetie. What's the matter, can't decide between pink and blue?" Gemma pointed towards the cotton candy. "I know you're not so good with the decisions, so I'll give you a tip, they taste exactly the same."

Mattie caught Gemma's smile, which was easy going. Maybe the queen just wanted to bust her balls a little, not take her down a whole peg. "Maybe I'll take your advice this time."

"That's my girl." Gem replied. "Come on, Clay, I want to go on a few rides before we eat."

"If you'd told me that at home, I could've saved us twenty bucks. Because, baby, I am always ready to _ride_." Clay retorted, wiggling his eyebrows at his wife. "See ya later, Matt."

She grinned and waved them off, still nervous about meeting Tig. What if something came up and he didn't have time to call her? How long should she wait before heading home? Ten more minutes? Fifteen? Christ, Mattie hated being a bundle of anxiety. There were so many things that could go wrong- she came overdressed, he blew her off, if he brought another woman- and all of them were taking up residence within her brain. Swirling and tumbling, getting more and more unbridled by the second. Taking a moment to calm herself, Mattie drew a deep breath and tried to sort through each scenario, one by one. First off, she'd ended up wearing a pair of dark pair of jeans with an olive green razorback tank top, specifically chosen because it covered up the tattoo in the center of her back. Mattie regarded those words as _hers_, and didn't need any more questions about what they meant. Chibs had been nice about it, but Mattie hated revealing that part of her past to somebody that she'd only know for a couple of weeks. Especially when he ended up trailing his fingertips against her skin without her permission. She didn't rebuke him at the time, but he crossed a strange line, one that she could not exactly figure out. The touch seemed oddly intimate, and he did not seem to notice. Perhaps she was making it into something much greater than it actually was. Mattie didn't know.

So, no, Matilda wasn't overdressed. Black flip-flops adorned her feet; her hair was down, makeup minimal. Like every other woman in their late twenties attending Fun Town. And if Tig was blowing her off to prove some sort of point? Mattie couldn't care less- well, actually she did care, but she'd never, ever say it his face- and she'd just grab some fried food to go and call it night. Curl up with Willow on the couch and watch some terrible reality television. So, really, not so different from most of Matt's Friday nights. Now, there was just the issue of Tigger arriving with another girl on his arm. She had no contingency plans in case that happened. Mattie would smile, greet her, and pretend to not be upset. It would be easy enough to fool the woman; Tig on the other hand might not be so convinced. Although, if he brought a sweetbutt just to offend Mattie, hurting her might have been his original option.

Christ. Any longer and she'd wear down the ground underneath her feet. About ready to head back to the car, her phone buzzed.

_Hey, I saw the Benz, where you at? Been looking around for 10 mins. _

**At the cotton candy stand. Pink or blue? **Mattie grinned to herself. Maybe this wasn't a setup after all.

"Pink. It is your favorite color, after all." Tig replied, sneaking up behind her and grinning. "Bet you didn't think I'd remember that."

"Guess you found me." She retorted, physically stopping herself from sinking a hand into his shirt.

Mattie didn't know why she did it. The action was compulsive, so natural that she normally never questioned why her fingers always darted out to him. Whether grasping his black t-shirt or his cut, her hand just acted on its own. Tig never seemed to mind, and judging by the little furrow in his brow, he was wondering why his shirt wasn't tangled between her fingertips.

"Yeah. As soon as I sent it, I saw you." His eyes traveled down her body. "You look like you actually belong in Charming."

"I was thinking about wearing an evening gown and stilettos, but I thought that might just be a tad too much." Mattie joked, wanting to make him smile.

"Naw. Not at all, babe." Tig gently tugged on the front of her tank top until just a sliver of her ivory-colored bra showed. "There we go. I fixed it."

Mattie rolled her eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem," He nodded towards the cotton candy. "You want some sugar, or do you want to hit a few rides before the guys come?"

So he wasn't bringing another _girl_, he was bringing some of his _brothers_. That wasn't so bad, at least not in Mattie's mind. She could breathe a little easier now, knowing that Fun Town wasn't the venue in which Tigger planned to have the 'big conversation' that the pair needed to get out of the way. Well, the rest of it, at least. They'd discussed having sex, which was a surprisingly minor piece of the talk they should've had. The rest was painful and would probably involve an argument of some sort. Whenever and wherever it happened, at least Tig knew that a county fair wasn't the proper place. He wasn't as clueless and emotionally stunted as Donna tried to make him out to be.

"Let's go on the Scrambler. Then the Himalaya. That's my favorite." Mattie declared, taking a few steps towards the rides.

"As long as you don't mind me screaming and holding your hand." He teased, taking off after her.

"Never. I'll take care of you, baby." She didn't mean to say it like that, with that heavy tone in the back of her voice. It didn't come across in the flirtatious way Mattie wanted it to, instead garbled up with some of her real feelings, the ones that she had to constantly fight off.

Tig reached for her hand, their fingers tangling together. "I know you will, Til. I know."

Til? He hadn't called her that for years. It was a little joke he used to dangle above her head. _I'm going to call you that since I had to wait un__**til**__ you were eighteen before I had sex with you, Ma__**til**__da. _Depending on his mood, sometimes he'd say until he was able to fuck her, until he was able to make love to her. The latter was especially rare, something he'd only whispered once, when she was leaving the clubhouse with her father. It had sent a shiver of lust down her spine, exactly what he intended. At the time, Mattie remembered thinking that it might've been something greater than lust, something closer to love, but it would be a long time before she acknowledged that feeling.

They silently approached the Scrambler, easily the oldest two people waiting in line without children. There were times in her life when Mattie would've done anything to have kids- Patrick already had two and didn't see the need to have any more- but for now, she was content. She liked watching Moby during the week, those few hours after morning kindergarten was done, until the end of Lowell's shift. The little boy was sweet and excitable, and he loved to sit next to her on the piano bench while she taught in the ins and outs of reading music. He'd learned how to play chopsticks during his first lesson, and was now figuring out what all the funny little characters sitting between those lined boxes meant. Mattie loved to teach him, and was quickly figuring out how badly her fingers missed those white and black keys.

Law had been a mistake. Actually, family law had been a mistake. It sounded good on paper, but in practice, it really wasn't. She'd intended to help people like her father, who'd lost custody of George to Reese because of jail time he'd served before Mattie was born. Reese didn't bother fighting for Mattie, because she was older than George and therefore, in her opinion, much more fucked in the head. Reese hated the Sons of Anarchy, hated her husband, and so she took her son and left Mattie and Book to fend for themselves. And now, Matt was so afraid that Donna would go down the same road. Not that Donna Winston was _anything_ like Reese Cardinal, but Donna's dislike for the MC didn't sit well with Mattie. What if Donna decided to take Ellie and Kenny and just leave Charming, leave Opie? That thought scared the shit out of Mattie, because she'd seen first hand what that did to a family. Book wasn't ever the same when Reese split, and they'd never really had a loving relationship. Opie and Donna really did care for one another, and Mattie knew that five years of jail time did a number on their marriage, but Donna was stronger than Reese. If she could handle raising two children for half a decade on her own, she could handle bills and Opie re-acclimating to normal life. Mattie was so sure of it. She'd always admired Donna's ability to take any situation and deal with it head on.

"Hey." Tig squeezed her hand. "You okay? We heard the law stopped by your house the other day."

"Oh, yeah. It was just David throwing his badge around." Mattie sighed, "Well, using our friendship to throw his badge around."

"What else is new? Hale's trying to get you on his side, that's all. We all know that ain't gonna happen."

"No."

She wondered when would be the right time to tell him that they went on a date. Not that she'd even known beforehand- hadn't his words been something to the effect of 'having a dinner with an old neighbor?'- so in her mind, it didn't really count. Kiss or not. As heartless as it made Mattie seem, locking lips with him didn't make her feel anything. She and David were great in high school, but now, not so much. The kiss was an end to whatever romantic relationship they once had. It wasn't a beginning, like she said to David. The feelings simply weren't there anymore, not like what she felt for Tigger. The vicious longing that afflicted Mattie in New York was gone, replaced by a shadow that lingered on the back of her mind, always reminding her how her heart flipped whenever Tigger touched her, whenever he spoke to her. Like at Piney's party. That kiss had been unexpected, so dramatic and still so passionate. Thinking about it made her toes curl in delight. Because it meant that he still felt something for her. It wasn't just one-sided, not like Mattie had long ago convinced herself it was. Tig wanted her, just a little bit. That was enough, for now.

But Christ, even though she'd managed to turn him down a little over a week ago, Mattie how no idea how much longer she could make it. Sexual deprivation was running its tiny little hands all over her brain, making her far more desperate for his skin on hers. It was like she was seventeen again, counting down the days before her eighteenth birthday.

"You want me to talk to him?" He asked, his voice nearly lost in through the ride's spinning. "He needs to know to back the hell off."

"I think he's got it. I told him to leave me alone."

"Well, I want to make him know that unless you call fucking 911, to keep his nose out of your business. He can't manipulate you, thinking that you're gonna give him info on the club."

Mattie tried her best to meet his gaze, but the constant rotation made it too difficult. "Well, first of all, I know shit about the club, and second of all, even if I did, I would never say anything. Especially not to David. To Hale."

When the ride finally stopped and they stumbled back onto solid ground, Tig wrapped his arms around her shoulders to steady himself. "I know, baby. I never had to worry about that. I never will. And I'm not trying to make you the bad guy. I'm trying to make you see what an asshole Hale is. He'll do anything to get rid of SAMCRO, even fuck over one of his oldest friends. He might seem like he's on the right side of the law, but he isn't. That's all I'm sayin'. I promise."

Mattie nodded, and pointed across the field. "There's Jax. I guess the boys are here already."

"Your uncle is uncharacteristically early." He replied, tucking Mattie into his side.

"I'll head back to my car, then. Let you guys have some fun." She said, reaching into her pocket to draw out her keys. "See you later?"

"Hey, you don't have to go. Stay. Come on, we're havin' fun, right? Why stop now?" His bright blue eyes sparkled as he pressed her tighter against him. "Afraid that it's gonna get Jax's panties in bunch if we're together?"

"No, I just don't want things to be weird." Mattie looked up at Tig. "You know we need to talk, right? We keep blurring the boundaries of what a friendship is supposed to be. I'm afraid we're going to do something stupid and fuck things up for good." Like actually fuck. But she left those words unsaid.

"Yeah. I know." It was all he was able to say before her uncle reached out to draw her into a hug.

Jax just grinned and shook his head. Mattie knew what that meant, why the smile didn't crinkle the corners of his eyes like it normally would. He didn't like the idea of Tig and Matt being together- not when she was seventeen, and certainly not now. Jackson was only two years older than Mattie, but he always made the age difference seem much greater than that, as if she were still the little girl that Jax needed to keep an eye on. It was how their relationship worked; he thought that Matt always needed his protection, especially from interested men. How many dates had Jax interrupted when she was a teenager? The running joke was that if a boy wasn't frightened away after the first date, he was a keeper. The only man that ever passed the test was David- Tig might've too, if their first date was anything close to a date.

"Baby girl, you look nauseous." Jax commented, kissing her cheek. The action was accompanied with a look that very clearly said, 'you are making the same mistakes you made ten years ago.'

Except- was she? What was Mattie doing that was so hideous? Tig was initiating every touch, he was the one pressing her into his side, and he was the one linking their fingers together. All she did was comply. Well, maybe a little more than that. Matt enjoyed the attention, the friction of his calloused hands against her bare skin. The caresses weren't intimate, they were… natural. That was the only way that she could describe Tig's movements, how he kept drawing her back towards him. Yeah, but they still were making her dangerously horny. She wondered if sexually voracious Tig felt like that all the goddamn time.

"Just got off the Scrambler, Jax. Her head's still spinning." Tig replied.

"That must be it." Jax retorted, nodding. "That explains why she's so uncomfortable."

He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side, waiting for Tig to answer him. The Sergeant-at-Arms just smirked and pulled Mattie in tighter, his fingers playing with the strap of her bra. Jax bristled, just a little, flaring his nostrils and exhaling loudly. He cast a dark look towards Matilda, shaking his head in irritation. In his mind, there was no way that a romance between Mattie and Tig could ever work out, and she knew that he was doing his best to nip it in the bud before anything started again.

"Come on, kid. Leave the boys to their games." Bobby cut in, taking Mattie by the hand. "Us adults are going to get something to munch on."

She grinned and followed him back to the food stands, standing behind two kids arguing over how to spend their five dollars- fried Oreos or funnel cake. Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. Jax and Tig were still talking, but she doubted that anything civil was being said.

"I swear, Jax thinks he's your older brother and he has to defend your honor. Sometimes I worry that he doesn't know that you're not actually related." Bobby mused, after ordering a dozen Oreos. "I mean, it's good that he's watchin' out for ya, but honestly, he takes it a little too seriously. You can handle yourself. And by now, you can handle Tig, too."

"You think I can?" Mattie asked, handing her uncle a napkin to wipe the powdered sugar off his mustache from the freshly fried treat he popped directly into his mouth. "That's a pretty strong statement."

Bobby laughed. "Tiggy won't ever say it, but he thinks you're gonna run off with the first man who comes around that isn't him. I mean, more power to ya, but if I can give you a piece of advice?"

"Of course."

"Whoever you choose, just make sure it ain't Hale. You ain't in high school, and it ain't cute anymore. Matt, he chose his side. And it's not yours. Remember that."

Mattie understood. David was Charming's Deputy Chief. Her father and uncle were in the Sons of Anarchy. She wasn't interested in a star-crossed love affair; Mattie was now twenty-seven and knew that such things were the fantasies of a sixteen-year-old girl. In 1998, there were options, they could go anywhere, be anything. But now, in 2008, David had a responsibility to Charming, Mattie to her family. They didn't owe each other anything. On paper, she and David had much more in common than she and Tig. After all, David was only two years older than she was, they both went to college, they both had 'important' jobs. Tig and Mattie- well… that was a bond that was much harder to explain. They were similar, they were definitely different, but they worked. Tig knew how to read her; Mattie knew how to soothe him.

Living in Charming was always a matter of life and death- and as much as David would like to think that he was going to save her life by drawing her away from the Sons of Anarchy, he was just going to get her killed by her own people.

Which was exactly why Mattie would stay on her side of the law.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope the jump wasn't too confusing. Like I said, I've been liking the longer chapters. And, yeah, I wanted to include the second piece so this post wouldn't be Tig-less. Hopefully it all made sense. I haven't decided whether the next part is going to be another flashback or present day, mostly because I decided to add something to the present day story, so I'll have go back and re-write a little bit. We'll see what happens. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14

_When you leave me_

_The bed is empty_

_And I feel crazy_

_'Cause I didn't say anything_

_I wish you would tell me_

_How you really feel_

_But you never tell me_

_'Cause that's not our deal_

_Our Deal – Best Coast_

* * *

><p>Thirteen. Thirteen. Thirteen.<p>

Tristan Oswald was thirteen. It fucking haunted Tig. Clay killed that perverted clown hours ago, and Tig still felt that tightness in his abdomen, a pressure that he had no idea how to relieve. He thought that once the carnie was dead, it would go away, but it just sat there, right below his sternum, a tight little coil that panged whenever he thought about what happened to Tristan. Christ, he remembers what his own daughters were like at that age. What if- No. He couldn't think about that. Tig might not be any sort of father to Dawn and Fawn, but he'd never let anybody hurt them. Over his dead fucking body.

His mind kept drifting to Mattie. Once, he hadn't been able to save her. Years and years ago, and Tig still couldn't forgive himself. If only he'd been able to get into Mattie's brain, figure her out just a little bit better… Fuck it. He couldn't change things, not almost eleven years later. But she was always a quiet, mysterious little thing, never the loud, happy girl that she'd been before Reese split. The change was subtle and gradual, the way that Mattie's personality got narrower and narrower, how she protected her emotions from the outside world. Soon she was just a shell of a girl, only opening for those closest to her. By the time she hit high school, Tig could feel the shift, the way that she guided everyone away from her vulnerabilities, pushing them towards the parts of herself that she felt were imperturbable enough for the outside world. She still did it, so deftly that it seemed completely normal. Mattie was the most guarded person he knew, and yet, she yielded to him. Sometimes.

He hoped that she would be awake enough to answer the door. Matt was normally a night owl, but it was close to a quarter after three. Tig should've called first, should've waited until morning, but something drew him to her. He didn't know what it was, but knew it that it had something to do with the pressure in his stomach. It was linked to Mattie somehow, but he had no idea where that concept had come from.

Minutes after Tig pressed the doorbell; Mattie finally appeared, curls falling out of the bun on her head, grinning groggily. He wasn't expecting that. Neither was he expecting the tiny pair of silk shorts barely covering her legs or the white tank top she wore- braless. Tig might not be in his right mind, but that was something that he wouldn't miss, not matter his mental state.

"You okay, Tigger?" Mattie asked with a yawn, the little smile playing on her lips dissolving into concern. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She was nearly his height while standing in the doorway, the single step into the house lending Mattie enough inches for her hazel gaze to meet his directly. Her head tilted slightly and her brows drew together as she watched him, a tiny nod finishing both actions. Mattie would make things okay. He didn't know how and he didn't know why, Tig never did, but he was positive that she could fix the feeling of discontent huddled in his torso.

"I just had a rough night."

"Club stuff?"

"Oswald stuff." She'd know that that meant. By the way she closed her eyes and swallowed, he was sure she did.

"Tell me that poor girl will be able to sleep at night. Please." Mattie's pleading voice was so small, so hushed, that he nearly missed the vicious tone behind her words. All he could focus on was the small tear rolling down her cheek.

"Baby." He reached out for her, but she'd already taken a step back into her darkened house.

Mattie hardly ever let herself succumb to tears, especially in the presence of others, so to see that rogue tear made him feel terrible, and at the same time, kind of relieved. She still trusted him. That concept… he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't want romance. He didn't want a relationship. He just wanted to make Mattie feel better and for that clenching sensation in his abdomen go away. Tig wanted simple things. He didn't want an Old Lady. In his experience, Old Ladies either died or they left you. Mattie already left him. He wasn't going to acknowledge his feelings for her a second time, for fear of the alternative. Tig couldn't lose Mattie. Not permanently. In a strange, twisted way, he needed her. Being with her gave him this weird sense of truly belonging somewhere. And Clay was right; having Matt back gave Tig purpose. He had somebody to fight for. Not because he was in love with her- which he was not- but because she cared about him. And he cared about what happened to her.

"I'm sorry." She said, once he'd closed and locked her door. The single tear was already wiped away. At least Mattie allowed herself a single moment of defenselessness.

He shook his head in response, trying his best to smile. "It's okay, doll. I understand."

Mattie nodded with a wide look in her eyes, as though she were trying to gauge his reaction to her miniscule outburst. He squeezed her hand in return, her tiny hand cold within his. The last time that he'd been alone with her had been months ago, in New York, in her gigantic apartment. This place was so different, and not because of the size. The apartment had felt impersonal, like nobody really lived within it. And it was devoid of a piano. Maybe that was what he really noticed. That asshole she shacked up with could've afforded the biggest, grandest piano of them all, and yet, he didn't even bother. That irked Tig, although he could not say why. It was like the jackass didn't appreciate her talents or something. Tigger didn't know shit about music, other than what he liked and didn't like, and he knew that Mattie was something special when her fingers gracefully sashayed over those keys. But now, an off-white piano sat in one corner of her living room, a pile of sheet music resting on the bench. That felt right to Tig. This place felt like it belonged to Mattie.

The walls were painted a soft blue color, adorned with photos. Tig spotted himself twice- once in a group picture and the other with a young Mattie in front of her old house. Matt's grinning mouth was open, as though she'd been talking while the picture was taken. One of her arms wrapped around his waist, the other crumpled into his cut, like she always did. Tig had her pulled into his side, his head tilted downwards, gazing at Mattie. No, not gazing, beaming. As secretive as he'd tried to be back then, that expression betrayed absolutely everything. _You're my girl, and I'm thrilled._ He wondered whether anybody else saw then what was so damned obvious to him now.

"Do you want ice or something for your knuckles? They're pretty bad." She asked, quietly standing by his side.

Tig's hands were bruised and a little bloody from the fight with the carnie earlier that night, and he was a little surprised that she'd spotted the damage at all. "Just some aspirin, maybe. They look worse than they are."

Mattie nodded, and then motioned towards the stairs. "Come on. You should clean up. You've got a bit of blood on your chin."

She was right. He'd been so focused on getting back to the club in order to get drunk so that he could put what happened to Tristan Oswald out of his mind that he'd forgotten about changing or washing his face. The alcohol didn't work. All it did was make him lonely, and the only person he ever wanted to see when he was lonely was Mattie. Tig would never admit it, but whenever he felt out of sorts, he always wanted to be with her. Even when she was gone- especially. He always felt content when she was near. She eased away all his burdens, and let him be free. That was the best way that he could explain it to himself. Admitting that maybe, just maybe, he was still in love with her, well, that was never going to happen. One night like this did not make up for six years, no matter how much that pressure in his abdomen had disappeared since the moment he'd stepped in the door.

After he'd finished in the bathroom, Tig wandered into her bedroom, following the soft glow from the lamp on her bedside table. Mattie sat on the foot of her bed, her eyelids looking heavy. He should've just stayed at the club.

"I thought I might've had something that you could sleep in, but I couldn't find anything. Sorry." She offered, stifling a yawn with the palm of her hand.

"It's cool, babe. You okay with me being here?"

"Yeah. I mean, as long as you behave yourself, we'll be fine." Mattie smirked, shaking her head.

"I'll be a perfect gentleman. Promise." He made an X over his heart, and Matt laughed.

She was already curled up under the covers by the time he shrugged out of his cut, hanging it and his shirt on the arm of the loveseat in the corner of the room. "Everything go okay tonight? You seem contemplative."

"Yeah. It's just a lot of shit." Tig replied, watching as she turned towards the middle of the bed.

"It'll be okay soon." She ran a hand down the side of his face. "I don't know what you did tonight, but whatever happened, I'm proud of you."

Mattie kissed his cheek before settling back into her spot. How did she always know what to say? This was why he needed her back in Charming, to make the rough nights go just a little smoother. Tigger tried to use the sweetbutts and croweaters to get the same results, but it never worked. Yeah, his dick was sucked dry, but other than that, the women didn't do much. Disposable. Mattie was a permanent fixture in his life, considering that he'd known her for basically all twenty-seven of her years on Earth. A little creepy- in Jax's opinion, at least- but reassuring in a strange way. Mattie was consistent. Secretive but predictable. He knew her completely. Somehow, when she was around, his life was more than an endless cycle of gun running and drinking and fucking. With Mattie now threaded into his existence, life was something more. Something better.

But she still wasn't his Old Lady. And he still wasn't in love with her.

To Tig Trager, there was a big difference between love and tenderness. Between freedom and independence. As much as Mattie made things simpler, complications would arise. Like Chibs getting much closer to Mattie than Tig was comfortable with. Mattie might not be his Old Lady, but he didn't like the idea of her being with anybody else. It was shitty and beyond selfish, considering that he stuck his cock in whatever girl was willing to open her legs, but Tig didn't care. The softly snoring woman that he tucked into his chest was _his_. For tonight, at least.

Although, he did feel like a pussy for not even attempting to get Mattie to fuck him. Tig did have a reputation to uphold, after all. When he woke up, maybe he'd tease her, like he used to when she was younger, and see what happened…

In the morning, the bed was empty, her warm form gone. Tig sat up slowly, anticipating the bleating of a hangover in his temples, listening the sounds of her house. Something cooking on the stove, a television, a child's voice. Strangely comforting. This must be what normal people woke up to, not Piney's bitching about how the Prospect couldn't cook eggs or the moans of a sweetbutt down the hall. Tossing his shirt over his shoulders, Tigger wandered downstairs. He grinned at the sight of Mattie plating up some grilled cheese.

"Hey, I let you sleep in. I hope that I didn't get you in trouble." Mattie greeted, motioning over to the clock on the oven, before leaning into the doorway. "Moby! Lunch!"

Shit. He completely forgot that she watched Moby Harlan during the day. So much for dragging her back into the bedroom for an afternoon romp. Not that she'd agree, they really did need to have a long conversation about what the fuck they were doing. How they kept subtly revolving around one another while pretending not to notice. Even so, Tig still wanted Mattie naked every time he was alone with her. But today, they happened to have very young company.

"Say hit to Tigger, Mobes. He came all the way downstairs to have lunch with you." Mattie teased, ruffling a hand through the boy's hair.

"Hi, Tigger." Moby said with a sunny smile, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Hey, bud. Whatcha watching? That spongy dude that lives under the sea?" Tig asked, accepting the cup of coffee and sandwich that Mattie set in front of him. Normally he started everyday with the Prospect's shitty breakfast- really, Matt or Bobby should take it upon themselves to teach the kid a thing or two- but considering that it was nearly one, well, lunch was great. Especially when it was in the form of buttery, cheese-stuffed bread.

"Scooby Doo." The kid replied, giggling. "Mattie doesn't like Spongebob."

"Nope, she does not." She cut in, rubbing Tig's shoulders before sitting down. "You're not missing anything important? Church or anything like that?"

"Naw. Things are gonna be mellow for a minute. Looking for places to put things, you know how it is." Tig watched her eyebrows raise, ignoring her look of polite disbelief. As if Mattie really wanted to say, 'I'll believe it when I see it,' and knew better than to voice that particular opinion.

"Well, I promised Mobes that once you woke up, that we could play on the piano. We've got a little Beethoven in our presence, you know that, Tigger?" Mattie smiled at the little boy.

"Oh, really? Think you've got the moves, little man? Mattie taught me how to play chopsticks once. Bet I could beat you."

"You can't win at chopsticks! It's not a game!" Moby exclaimed, laughing. "I can only play a few things. I like to listen to Mattie while I draw."

Tigger looked towards Mattie, who had the tiniest little blush tinting her cheeks as she watched Tig and Moby together. He'd been hearing that Moby sometimes spent days at time with Matt, whenever Lowell was having a hard time with his habit. Finding out that news had annoyed the shit out of Tig, the mechanic had so many chances- just like his old man, and look how that turned out- and kept asking for more. But maybe it was a good thing that Moby was with Matilda instead of being at home while his dad was using. Hell, Matt was more involved with Moby than his own mother, who only showed up when she felt like it. Tig always thought that the woman sitting at his side would make a good mom. She was already a better parent than Tig was, and Moby wasn't even her kid.

"Okay, okay, you're right. Did dad take you to Fun Town over the weekend?" Tigger asked, finishing the last of his sandwich.

"No, me and Mattie went. We went on a lot of rides and ate cotton candy. A lot of cotton candy. Daddy had to work with Mommy."

Mattie shook her head at Tig, warning him not to untie the little lie she'd told Moby. How much longer was the kid going to believe it? Apparently, the crank was more important than taking his son out. Tig fucking hoped that Moby wouldn't turn out like his father, like Lowell obviously had. But Crystal Harlan wasn't anything like Mattie; Lowell's mother was beaten down and spineless. If Mattie's loved ones were threatened, well, they didn't stand a chance. Yeah, she was quiet and self-possessed, but fuck with one of her own and all that peaceful shit went down the tubes. At least Moby had her on his side. If Lowell Jr. eventually became a carbon copy of his pops, he'd meet that vicious side of Matilda. Tig was sure of it.

And she was definitely the wrong person to mess with when it came to custody battles. Wendy didn't have a prayer when Abel was born. Matt had those papers drawn up in an instant, without Gemma or Jax even having to ask. Maybe that was why Gem had invited her to the family dinner the other night. Tig couldn't lie, it was nice having Matt at his elbow, even if Chibs had chosen to sit on her other side. The Scot was going to get his ass handed to him again if he didn't watch himself. He'd do it in the ring, like Clay asked. Mattie would be in his corner.

Tig was sure of it.

* * *

><p>"Guess what?" Tig asked, following Mattie through the middle school gym. It was easier to track things through the school instead walking around the field, since she'd made the mistake of parking in the front lot after dropping Moby off at kindergarten. Normally, all she needed to do was pick him up from school, but Lowell decided to pick last night to score some crank. Not that she would refuse to watch Moby, but she had so much to do for A Taste of Charming that it was hard not to be overwhelmed.<p>

"Do I really want to know?" She groaned, juggling the box of cupcakes in her arms. He was on a run last week, and well, which sweetbutt and how was not really her idea of conversation.

"Probably not. But come on." He stuck his bottom lip out, trying his best to look pathetic. "Remember how I said I was going to miss the patch-over party?"

"Let me guess, you didn't? Wow, that was a great story." Mattie joked, setting down the boxes of baked goods in her arms. Gemma had tasked her with running the bake sale- which she was informed of _after_ spending the better part of three days making most of the sweets. Mattie couldn't say she was very surprised, though.

Teasing him like that was probably crossing some sort of line, but they'd been spending so much time together- well, he kept sporadically coming to her house in the middle of the night without calling first- that she thought she was entitled to a little bit of sarcasm. Plus, as much as she knew that it was a bad idea to keep inviting Tig into her bed, even platonically, it was nice to have somebody in the house with her. She wasn't lonely in Charming by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something comforting about having Tig around. It had been awkward for a while, both of them avoiding the discussion they very badly needed to have- Mattie was pretty sure it would never happen- but somehow, they'd passed that point of unbearable discomfort and ended up in a friendly realm of flirtatious joking. She wasn't stupid, Mattie knew at some point that it would either lead to an actual relationship- honestly, she had no idea why or how Tig hadn't convinced her out of her clothes yet, but she was impressed- or something completely broken. The in-between wouldn't work forever, but she was sure as shit going to try.

Plus, having Tig in her bed made Mattie think about sex. A lot. He was the kind of guy that was always, always raring to go, and well, she was kind of thinking that she might need to soon. In New York, Mattie never thought twice about how frequently she and Patrick slept together- rarely- but in Charming… It was sort of like every night that Tig didn't fuck her was some kind of insult. Or maybe he thought she'd become too much of a prude to get down and dirty. Shit. She was thinking about it way too much. Which meant that sooner than later, Mattie was going to reach the end of her rope and just beg for it. Not pretty, not even close, but necessary. And Tigger? He might be treating her with as much indifference as he could muster, but he wouldn't turn her down. Right? Right. Fuck. Mattie had better things to worry about, although, at that very moment, she couldn't remember what any of them were.

"You're just jealous that it wasn't your sweet, sweet pus- Gemma! I was helping Matilda bring these cupcakes from the car. She has some _delicious_ cupcakes." Tig shot her a mischievous glance as the Queen crossed her arms over her chest. Mattie couldn't hide her grin. Gemma always had great timing.

"I'm glad that you're getting to know her cupcakes again, but I was wondering if she knew when her uncle was planning to get here. That fat little shit hasn't been answering my phone calls." Gemma complained. "I have enough to worry about, and I don't need to add Elvis to the list."

"Thirty minutes after he's supposed to, that would be my best guess. If it doesn't have to do with the club, he's always late." Tig replied. "I've gotta go back in a bit, I'll make sure he gets here as timely as possible."

"Tell that jackass that if he's late, I'll take upon myself to make sure that Precious pays him a personal visit the next time he misses his child support. That is a damned guarantee." Gemma warned, before turning to Mattie. "Clay called and said that Lowell didn't make it to work today. You have the kid last night?"

"I don't know the specifics, but yeah, I had Moby. Lowell was going to watch him at TM while I helped out here, so I guess if he's not at the garage, I'm going to have to bring Moby back with me once I get him from school."

"We'll put Moby to work. Another pair of hands is perfectly fine with me. Now scoot, both of you. Time's ticking." Gemma waved them away, stalking off to make sure somebody else was doing their job right.

By the time that Mattie dropped off the first load of baked goods, Tig was already itching to finish his story. She was more concerned with figuring out the rest of the morning was going to work- though the thoughts about leading him to the backseat of her car and tearing her clothes off were intermingled with the more practical ones.

Moby was at school for another couple of hours, but she still needed to make a couple trips back home to pick up the rest of her stuff, along with all the things Bobby needed for the Elvis booth. His excuse was that he couldn't carry it all on his bike, but she knew better. If Mattie brought all those plastic sunglasses and fake sideburns, it would give her uncle an excuse to spend more time on his own costume. Tigger's prediction that Bobby would be thirty minutes late wasn't even close to the number in Mattie's head.

"So, I didn't make it to the patch-over. I was pissed. They got some fine women in Nevada. _Mint_ pussy. SAMCRO's sweetbutts don't hold a candle to his girls. The last time-"

"I get it, Tigger. They are young and pretty. You made your point." She cut in, rolling her eyes.

"Just wait, Til, just wait. So I get to Nevada, and I'm so damned angry that the patch-over's over, that a dog has bit me in the ass because Juice is a motherfucking idiot, I spend the morning brooding over a bottle of scotch. Until out come three beautiful, scantily clad bitches. Three. I swear, one of the best mornings of my life." Tigger bragged, grinning so broadly that Mattie sort of wanted to hit him.

"How does that even work? You only have one dick."

"One dick. Two hands. One mouth. So by that math, I could've had one more. Jealous yet?"

Mattie put her hands on her hips as they reached her car, the trunk already popped. She wasn't really envious of the other women- well, she was in strange way that she didn't completely understand- but she was not exactly happy about what happened either. Tig had to get his jollies somewhere, she figured. And it wasn't like they were together, if they were, hey, maybe it would've been only two whores instead of three. A girl could dream.

"So, unless you're completely underselling what happened in Nevada, what was the best morning of your life? Because you sound pretty thrilled with your little foursome." She asked, handing him a couple boxes, before taking the last ones for herself.

"Oh, come on. You know the answer to that." Tig leaned in seductively. "All the mornings I spend with you."

Mattie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You think you're gonna get brownie points for that answer?"

"Brownie points, a little blowjob in the bathroom, you know, whatever reward you think is appropriate."

She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips. "You gotta wine and dine me, Tigger, if you want me to open my legs. It's all I ask. Not so hard."

A lie, if she ever told one. All Tig needed to do was… not much. Not much at all.

"I will wine and dine the shit out you, Matt. Don't tempt me." They set the last of the boxes on the bake sale table, before Tig checked his cell. "I've got to get back to the club. We've got to pick up a package, but I'll be back later. Save some of that sweetness for me?"

"You talking about the baked goods or my goods?" She retorted, raising an eyebrow. His frisky mood was rubbing off on her- verbally at least. Everything else was just in her head.

"I'll take this for now," Tig pressed his lips against hers, "And come back for the rest later."

Mattie grinned despite herself. She wasn't going to be responsible for keeping him, and could already feel a blush creeping up in her cheeks. Plus, Gemma was giving her a look from across the field, which Mattie was doing her best not to acknowledge. She didn't know where the Queen stood on the Tig-and-Mattie fence, especially considering that Mattie wasn't her favorite person in Charming. At least she wasn't Tara Knowles. That was the only thought that kept Mattie smiling as she drove home and back to the middle school, able to fit everything into the car. Which meant she had about an hour and a half to set up the bake sale before picking up Moby. The senior citizens were supposed to arrive around two, and her shift at the bake sale ran from then until four, when she planned to meet Donna and the kids and wander around with them.

After she grabbed Moby from kindergarten, Mattie's plan for the afternoon grew a little fuzzy. Gemma kept asking her to make sure that Charming PD had everything they needed for the grill, while Luann borrowed Mattie to pin up some signs by the front entrance. And then there was the problem of lunch- her stomach was growling by the time Moby asked her what they were going to eat- and since nobody was cooking just yet, they both had a cupcake. Probably not the smartest thing to serve a five-year-old at one in the afternoon, but she had no other options.

By the time that Donna and Opie came by the sale, Mattie was ready to tear out her hair. The old folks were all rude, the moms were all asking about sugar content and carbohydrates- Mattie was running the _bake sale_, what did they want, celery stalks?- and the only good thing about the afternoon so far was that Moby wasn't bouncing off the walls. Well, he had literally bounced in the inflatable castle at least a dozen times, but that was she got for letting him eat a cupcake for lunch. Once her replacements arrived a half hour late, Mattie was so glad to be done that she considered just going home and crashing. But that was not worth facing the wrath of Gemma.

Donna shot her an amused smile as Mattie sunk in to the spot next to her on the picnic bench. Moby was playing with Kenny in the sandbox, which was just fine with Mattie. Tig and Bobby had arrived a little while ago, but she needed to relax for a minute before either heading over to Bobby's crowded booth or flirting with Tig at the food stand.

"You look like you're having loads of fun." Donna commented. "You look almost as thrilled as Opie."

She pointed to where he was loafing with Jax, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "At least his job doesn't start until it's dark out."

"Gemma had you setting up early?"

"Yeah, and I had to bake everything. I waited until last night to start the cookies, part of my perfectly executed plan. Which didn't include Lowell asking if I could watch Moby overnight or Tig dropping by at about one in the morning. Which was about two hours before I managed to get into bed."

Donna wrinkled her nose. "You didn't tell me that the Asshole had been spending the night, Cardinal. Didn't we just have a long conversation about the shitty marriage you're barely out of?"

Mattie had never decided whether she loved or hated the fact that Donna used such a colorful nickname for Tigger.

"First off, he's spending the night, but not in the way you think."

"Oh, please. Opie's told me stories about that man, and none of them are virtuous. If you're sleeping with him, I swear, Matt. You never learn." Donna scolded.

"I'm not sleeping with anybody. I promise you'll be the first person I tell when I start. I've already gotten 'the talk' from Jax; I don't need it from you too. You're my best friend, you're supposed to celebrate my sexual conquests."

"Not when they're stupid. Or with the Asshole. I'm supposed to smack you upside the head and send you in the right direction. Or tattle and tell Jax. Either way will set you straight." She teased, elbowing Mattie. "Don't give me that pathetic look. I'm trying to teach you a lesson. One way or another, darling."

"We're being good, I promise. How are things with Ope? Better?"

"I don't know. Money is still really tight. And the club keeps sneaking into my life. I was less than thrilled that my husband got tasked with the fireworks. Gemma knows exactly how to wield her little minions, right?"

"Come on, you get to spend time with your family. Can't be too bad, right? The kids look happy." Mattie motioned towards Kenny in the sandbox and Ellie running around with her friends. "And Opie is just figuring shit out. I told you, it takes a while for things to settle."

Donna nodded, although Mattie could tell that she wasn't fully convinced. There was nothing that Mattie could say that would change the way that her friend felt about the club; she'd figured that out at dinner a couple weeks ago. Opie was one of the most loyal people she'd ever met, to his wife and family, and especially to the club. There was nothing that Donna could do about that except to embrace it. Christ, his father fucking helped found SAMCRO. To Opie, being in the MC was about honor and legacy, not obligation like Donna believed. He was proud to wear his cut, while Donna was almost ashamed of it. The Sons were always there for their own. And that included Donna and Opie, whether Donna wanted to see it or not.

As much as Mattie wanted to take her friend's side, Matt had grown up with the Sons, just like Opie. They both had it in their blood.

"Can I ask you a strange question?" Donna's expression was suddenly serious, and Mattie narrowed her eyebrows in response.

"Of course."

"Have you ever heard of anybody getting out SAMCRO?"

"What do you mean?" Alarms went off in Mattie's head, but she hid them as deftly as she could manage. In her exhaustion, she wasn't sure how well she carried it off.

"Like, leaving the club. On good terms." Donna looked at her coolly, as though she were asking whether Moby was four or five, and not subtly inquiring about how easy it would be for Opie to leave the Sons of Anarchy.

"I don't know. I don't remember anybody splitting from the club, not unless they were setting up a new charter. And I don't think there's really a way to leave 'on good terms.' It's either death or dishonor, as hokey as that sounds. Why?"

Donna sighed and nodded towards the games. "Him. Ope said he left the club. He's here, so getting out can't be so bad."

Mattie squinted across the field and found who Donna was pointing out. Tall, lean but muscular, dirty blonde hair shorn in a buzz cut. Kyle Hobart. Shit, Mattie hadn't even thought about the fact that he hadn't been at the club any of the times she was there. When did that happen? She didn't know how he'd managed to leave the MC without retribution. Why would he leave SAMCRO just to hover about at a Charming fundraiser? Hobart couldn't be that stupid. Mattie had never liked him; he was always leering at her like she was one of the sweetbutts and trying to tell her dirty jokes whenever Tig wasn't around. He didn't seem to understand that Matt wasn't playing hard to get, she genuinely did not want to sleep with him. Whatever had gone down between Hobart and the club, she seriously doubted it was on good terms.

"I'm not sure. The last time I saw him, he was part of SAMCRO. You'd have to ask Ope or maybe Jax to get the whole story." Mattie finally replied, shaking her head. "You need to seriously think about what you're asking, though. And I'm not saying that to upset you."

"It's okay, Matt. I know." Donna said, with a little bit of wistfulness. Mattie didn't want her to start anything drastic, but if Donna Winston got a mind to do something, come hell or high water, she was going to go for it. Mattie admired that as much as she feared it.

They talked for a little bit longer, until Moby wandered over, looking tired. Mattie wondered how he would ever make it until the fireworks, which he'd been looking forward to all week. The little boy sighed and cuddled up next to her, and Donna shot her smile before excusing herself to find Opie.

"Mattie, I'm hungry. Can I have a hotdog?" He asked, shaking some sand off his palms.

"Sure thing, kiddo. You want some of Gemma's chili on your dog?"

He nodded excitedly, and reached upwards. She was just as exhausted as Moby, but she could never resist that cute little grin he always used when he wanted to be picked up. Hauling the little boy in her arms, they grabbed some food and settled back down at one of the picnic tables. She watched Tigger leave with the rest of the boys soon afterwards, trying not to smirk as he sent a devilish grin her way.

Late afternoon faded into evening, and it wasn't long before Moby felt asleep in her lap as she talked with Donna, the strange rift between the two women narrower than it seemed mere hours ago. Mattie didn't know what had changed and she didn't necessarily need to, and just enjoyed the conversation with her best friend as Moby snored with his face pressed into her shoulder. Sometimes, she really did feel like his mother. Crystal walked into Moby's life whenever the mood struck her, spending few hours with him here and there. Mattie didn't like the way she treated him, like mothering was a hobby that Crystal could pick up and put down when it suited her. Taking care of a child was not like knitting; and it was more than collecting their drawings and taping them to the fridge. Moby had nestled into Mattie's heart so quickly and easily that she hadn't even noticed his presence there. She loved the child napping in her arms, and it scared the shit out of her. Worse was the feeling she got when both Tigger and Moby were in her house, all three of them playing or watching television together. They felt like family in those fleeting moments. She didn't know what to do with that thought, or how to explain it.

Tigger sent her a text after the fireworks ended, but she and Moby were already in the car, and she didn't feel like running the Mercedes into the opposite lane checking the message. She'd be home in a few minutes; she'd wait until then. Plus, she was already starting to feel edgy about what she was doing with Tigger. It was easy to think that their relationship could be nothing more than harmless flirting, but she knew better than that. Eventually, she would need more- more than a good fuck- and he wouldn't be able to give it to her. Not with how she'd left things the first time. One way or another, her heart was going to be broken, and honestly, she was just waiting for the axe to fall. No matter how desperately Matilda Cardinal wanted Tig to love her, she didn't think he could.

Her phone buzzed again as she pulled into the driveway. Christ, he was impatient. Except the second text wasn't from him.

**Missed you, baby. I know you saved some of your special sweetness for me, but I won't be able to swing by tonight. Got some shit to clean up. **That was from Tig, and it was more or less what she expected.

_Thinking about you, with him, is driving me crazy. _That wasn't from Tigger. That was from Chibs, and she really didn't know what to make of it.

So she crawled into bed and pretended that she never read it.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I know this took about forever and a half to get posted. I had internet troubles and got insanely busy at the same time, so I'm sorry. This is another chapter where the halves aren't exactly completely conjoined, but I like keeping the posts long. And I promise, the next chapter will be out in just a few days, not a couple weeks! Anyhow, thanks for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

_I'm giving you a night call to tell you how I feel_

_I want to drive you through the night, down the hills_

_I'm gonna tell you something you don't want to hear_

_I'm gonna show you where it's dark, but have no fear_

_There's something inside you_

_It's hard to explain_

_They're talking about you boy_

_But you're still the same_

_Nightcall – Kavinsky feat. Lovefoxxx_

* * *

><p>"You know, out of all people," Mattie paused in order to grin, "It seems very ironic that your birthday is also Valentine's Day. It's kind of sick actually."<p>

Tig shrugged as he took his shot, aiming for the six ball right near the back left corner. Pool wasn't Mattie's game, but it was a nice distraction. She liked poker, Texas hold-em especially, but none of the guys would ever play her. Clay always said that behind the curls and the girlish grins, Mattie was a card shark of the worst order. She blamed it on Bobby- after all, her grandfather on the Munson side used to run the books for the Italian mob in Reno- who would teach her casino games while he babysat. Occasionally, when other charters came to Charming, she got away with a few hands of poker before they caught on. And her piggy bank got a little heavier. Although she wouldn't win any money with a pool cue in her hand, not against Tigger, at least. Jax, maybe, Hobart, definitely, but not Tig.

Book and Bobby were at the bar, and Mattie knew that her father had his seat positioned so that he could keep on eye on her and talk to her uncle at the same time. Things had been much calmer lately, like somebody had reassured Book that Tig wasn't going to wind up in Mattie's bed any time soon. Whatever strange note of affection that had been struck between them had practically vanished, and Tig was back to treating Mattie like she was just another annoying little kid. But he was the one who challenged her to a round of pool. A note of tension leapt through Mattie every time that Tig lifted his blue eyes, not liking the intrusive way that he kept studying her. Book was sure to take notice of that and then all the complications would begin again. Mattie was just trying to make through her senior year. She was just trying to decide which school she wanted to go to and then get the hell out of Charming for a little while.

Few of them, however, were schools that her father approved of. _Wherever you go off to, there better be a charter within an hour's ride. _Book actually had the audacity to concoct a list, accompanied by a map. University of Arizona Tucson, California State University Fresno, University of Utah, shit, plus places that Mattie hadn't even heard of. He also told her if she could find a university near Newcastle or Belfast, she could go there, but New York? Indiana? Fuck that shit. The only college on Mattie's own list that Book gave the thumbs up to was UC Berkeley, and he'd practically thrown her acceptance letters to NYU and Notre Dame away.

Telling Book her reasons for wanting to go to NYU was an even bigger mistake. Mattie wanted to go to New York to feel a connection to the Cardinal side of the family, to find a piece of her grandfather that she'd never met. _You really think I want my only kid searching for the Irish mob? Fuck that, sweetie, fuck that. _For somebody who'd spent years explaining how Mattie reminded him of his father- she was quiet, intelligent, perceptive- Book certainly didn't want her anywhere near that sort of family.

Maybe Mattie just wanted a little bit of freedom, the responsibility to run her own life without everyone making sure she was doing it the right way.

"You gotta date for valentine's?" Tig asked, sinking another shot.

"No. If he wasn't busy, Jax and I were going to rent a couple of horror movies and boycott the holiday altogether." Mattie replied, accidentally scratching, making Tigger grin. "How are you gonna celebrate your birthday? I assume there will be strippers, maybe some farm animals, a couple underage Asian boys to finish out the night."

"Oh, you're so funny." He feigned a smile, "I'd let you attend the festivities, but I don't think you got the stomach for it. Although, you'd probably be the only girl there whose tits are real."

"Shut up."

"What? I doubt that Daddy's Little Girl woulda gone out and gotten her tits done. Your mama had the same kinda rack. Yours might be a little bigger though, if I remember right." He leaned in a little too close, "Learn to accept a compliment."

If her father wasn't around, Mattie was sure that Tig would've goosed her to prove his point, but his hands just tightened around his pool cue. "So, usual bevy of naked women, free flowing booze to ease you into the next year of your life? Must be getting old." She emphasized the last word, knowing that it would make his expression darken.

"You have other ideas, sweetness?" He lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

"Naw." Mattie dropped her voice, so that her father wouldn't hear, "Because if I saw you without your clothes on, I might laugh, and I don't know what kind of damage that would do to your ego."

"Laugh? You'd gasp, sweetheart. Whatever little dicks you've played can't compare to the big, thick cock inside my boxers." Tig's voice was dangerous, his body too close. Christ, Mattie wished her father wasn't around. "But, I've been told to play nice. So, I will."

He backed away, and Mattie felt her heartbeat return to normal. They hadn't played their games for a while, and she was just the littlest bit out of practice. Ever since the snowstorm, when he told Mattie that she was just a kid that he had absolutely no interest in, they'd half-avoided, half-antagonized one another. Mattie was always the one who broke first, who could no longer take his teasing or his thinly veiled insults. It was like she'd let him see just a little bit of her vulnerabilities and now he could take advantage of them whenever he wanted. Tig would talk about her breasts, talk about her ass, talk about anything he knew would either raise the little hairs on the back of her neck or just make her react irrationally.

_I like when you get all disheveled and look at me like you're gonna murder me. It's kind of sexy. _Tig would always say that just before Mattie stormed away, just before she told him to go fuck himself. But no matter what she said, no matter what she did, it never stopped him from repeating the process the next time they decided to speak. And it never stopped Mattie from wanting to talk to him.

She did not like to acknowledge that fact.

"So, you're not a fan of V-Day?" Tigger asked, "I seem to remember you showing off a bunch of roses and a teddy bear last year, when you were fucking Hale."

"First of all, how do you know that I was _fucking_ David, and second, I don't hate Valentine's Day, I just think that it's a little dumb to single out a random day in the middle of February and make everyone declare their love."

Tigger completely ignored the latter half of her statement, and taunted, "You're a virgin, then?"

"My dad is sitting not even twenty feet away. Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Oh, baby, you bet I am. Answer my question. Has that cherry been popped?" He made a big show of leaning down to line up his shot, just to stare at Mattie out of Book's eyesight.

"If that's something that you want to know, well, you're just going to have to get my pants off and find out yourself." She wasn't sure why she said that, or why it elicited such a smile out of Tig.

"Don't even issue that challenge. It'll take an hour, tops. Trust me." His gaze was predatory, his tone thick and fucking delicious. Maybe Mattie should've steered the conversation someplace far less sexual. Tig always managed to cause a pressure between her legs that made her nervous, a response that nobody else had ever triggered. Her body wanted him, her heart was confused, and her head said absolutely fucking not. So far, Mattie had gone along with her brain, but with every comment and every play fight, she wasn't sure how much more she could take.

Mattie knew Tig's reputation. She knew that his sexual proclivities ran much deeper and darker than anything she could even conceive of, that he used women to get off and then threw them away. He didn't believe in repetition, and he didn't really have to, not with all the women that hung around the MC. His ex-wife, Colleen, hated him, said that he was soulless and violent and cruel, said that if she hadn't been pregnant with his children then she would've never considered marrying him. Tig was a sociopath, a nightmare that wouldn't end until she divorced him and took the girls. Perhaps that was all true, perhaps he was a hellish asshole who didn't care about anybody but himself, but Mattie wasn't so sure. Tig was a good father who loved his twins even if he could hardly see them, and he loved his brothers. He kept his family, biological and extended, safe. Yeah, he killed, but then again, Book was also a murderer. Mattie had no delusions about that. The deaths weighed a little heavier on her father, but she'd understood the need for carnage and retribution from a very young age. Take a life to save a life. Book's mantra. Combined with brains before bullets, the two phrases served as his bible. Tig might not have been very fond of brains before bullets, but he did a hell of a job keeping the MC families out of danger.

Tig and Book were not always on the same wavelength, but they made a very good tag team when it came to protecting the Sons of Anarchy. Jobs that required finesse went to Book, ones that were a little more fast and loose went to Tig. That's how things had always been. That deal became just a little bit more strained now that Tig wouldn't stop flirting with her, and Mattie was beginning to think that he was just doing it to piss her father off. Hopefully for Tigger, there wouldn't need to be another match in the ring to set things right. Because Mattie had no doubts that Book would rip his fucking face off, if given the chance. The last fight had been just a warning, and Tig still had his ass handed to him. If things got serious, well, Mattie didn't want to be around to see it.

And no, she wasn't a virgin. Mattie and David had sex regularly- or they had when they were still together- but that didn't mean she was the sort of nympho that Tig was used to. She saw the croweaters and sweetbutts. They were the kind of girls that got around and got around hard. Mattie did not belong in that crowd. David was a polite boy that only believed in missionary with just a little bit of foreplay, the kind of sex that did not and would not prepare Mattie for going bareback with Tigger.

Not, you know, that she'd thought about it or anything.

"You lost." Tig's gleeful declaration brought Mattie out of her thoughts, and she was stunned to see the amount of stripes that she had left on the table. Christ, she did suck at pool. More than she originally thought.

"Okay, okay. That's enough for tonight. I'm heading home." Mattie said, heaving a sigh and hanging her cue back up. "Have a happy birthday tomorrow. Make sure you use protection."

"No glove, no love, baby. Like-"

"Your mama said." Mattie finished with an eye roll. They'd had the same exchange a couple times before, but it was usually because he was being lured away by a pair of tits on parade. "See ya later."

"Hey, hey, hey. Best two out of three." He glanced at his watch. "Only an hour and half 'til my birthday. Might as well congratulate me on time."

"I have to go to school tomorrow, Tigger. I need a whole night's sleep."

"Come on. You could sleepwalk your way through, ya little genius." He smirked. "Or play hooky."

"Fuck off, Tig," Mattie replied pleasantly, chancing a look towards Book to see if he was watching them. He wasn't. "Have a happy birthday and a happy Valentine's Day, and maybe, just maybe, I'll drop by tomorrow and give you a present."

"Will it involve my dick and your mouth, because I won't lie, I've been kinda thinking about how nice that would be." Tig took a step closer and dropped his voice, "Or my dick and your pussy. I think I would like that too."

"Oh, I think you would love that, but I don't know. We'll have to see what happens in the next twenty-four hours, _baby_." Mattie retorted, using his new favorite pet word for her. "But I wouldn't count on it."

"You are such a fucking tease." He growled, before adding, "But I kinda love it."

Mattie absentmindedly tapped him on the chest. "I know it. Good night, Tigger."

"Drive safe." Tig called after her as she went to say goodbye to her father and uncle.

Book was talking to the prospect behind the bar when she walked up, so she hugged Bobby first. Her uncle was spending more and more time away from Precious, although she was known to show up at the club and drag him home if need be. Mattie tried her best not to dislike her aunt, but there was something about the bottle blonde that always irked her. Like she thought the MC was not quite up to her high standards. So Mattie charged her fifteen dollars an hour to watch her cousin, making up for all the stuck-up comments.

"Ya'll are getting along." Bobby commented, running a hand through his beard. "I only had to talk your pops down about a half dozen times. He's gettin' better."

"Hey, just looking out for my baby girl." Book cut in, elbowing Bobby's gut softly.

"Daddy. I'm fine. We were playing pool, I was trying to see if I could win a couple bucks." Mattie said, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together to signify the cash, "Would've lost some if Tig wanted to collect."

"Bet you tried to talk the big freak into a card game first." When Matte nodded, Book chimed, "That's my girl."

"Gotta go home and hit the hay. I've got a quiz first period."

After all the goodbyes were said and Mattie was on her way to her car, she wondered whether Book would ever let up about the Tig thing. He definitely seemed less murderous when the pair was together, but he wasn't exactly happy about Tig hanging out with his only daughter. And that was as far as things would go. Handing out. Being friendly. No ass grab, no blowjobs, no fucking. Mattie had standards, she had plans for the future, and neither of those two things included hooking up with a Son.

Especially one, what, twenty years older than she was?

Mattie was barely out the door the next morning when she stumbled across the box on her porch. It must've gotten there after Book got home, because he definitely would've brought it inside and woken her if he noticed it.

Bright red, heart-shaped, flocked with velour, and filled with chocolates. A light pink envelope rested on top of it with her name written in big, boxy letters. Mattie didn't recognize the handwriting, and didn't have any idea who it could've come from. Christ, she didn't have time for secret admirers-the snooze on her alarm had been hit not just once, but three times- but her heart was stammering out of her chest despite her time crunch. Shit. Curiosity killed the cat. More like made her late for homeroom.

Gently tearing the envelope open, Mattie couldn't help grinning at the image on the front of the card. It was a black-and-white image of a little girl in a party dress standing on the feet of a boy wearing a tux, the picture a little blurred as to show their dancing. The message on the inside read: _you make me weak in the knees_. Cute, Mattie thought, searching for who it could possibly be from.

It took her a second to notice the two little drawings, the one above the inscription a sketch of a little bird. A red cardinal. And the other, beneath the words, was of a tiger. From Tigger, to Mattie. That was clever. Uncharacteristically sweet, though.

Maybe it was a joke. Maybe Bobby or Jax thought it would be funny to plant the evidence and call Mattie out on her crush. Which, unfortunately, she had. Squelching her feelings didn't help, avoiding Tig didn't help, and going out with other guys certainly didn't do squat. Mattie didn't know what to do if it was actually from Tigger. Because, really, what did that mean? The Tig she knew didn't believe in such niceties, and even if he did, she really doubted that he would direct them towards a seventeen year old. But no, Tig was probably just playing one of his little games, trying to make her angry. Mattie was only uncomfortable as she fumbled through the day, doing her best not to dwell on things. So much for his master plan to piss her off.

When she got home, the house was empty, and there were a couple messages on the machine. One from Reese, which Mattie deleted without much ceremony, the next from Bobby, telling Mattie to stay away from the club because it was Tig's birthday. Even though it was a Friday night, Book decided not to fight, so there was really no reason for Mattie to come around. Which was Bobby-speak for if Mattie came around, it meant that she had ulterior motives involving Tig. Well, she did, but she wasn't about to run around declaring her silly little feelings. The last message was from Jax, reporting that he'd be over around seven, after he finished some things at the club, because he absolutely did not want to be witness to Tigger's festivities. The two of them pretty much openly hated each other, but Matter was not vain enough to believe that it had anything to do with her. Whatever beef they had was old, and had only festered with time. Mattie was just fuel on the fire.

Jax arrived twenty minutes late with a bottle of wine and a pizza, a couple of videos underneath his arm. He looked just a little bit tired, and Mattie knew it was because the club was running him and Opie a little bit ragged. They were the newest members, legacies or not, so it meant that they got all the grunt work both for the MC and the garage. But Opie never really complained, just took things as they were with the expectation that things would get better. Jax, well… he'd learn to shut up and deal with things eventually.

"Pizza and red wine. We're very classy tonight, aren't we?" Mattie teased, setting _Psycho_ in the VCR while Jax got a couple plates out of the kitchen.

"Hell yeah. What says Valentine's day more than a bottle of vino filched outta my mom's house, right?"

"Jax Teller, such an outlaw. If only the kids at school could've seen this side of you." She handed him the remote, because Jax always had to be in control of the volume.

They settled in for the movies, plates on their laps. Jax had been acting more like himself lately, less like the melancholy version that had existed since Tara left for San Diego. Gemma, seeing that Jax was in a better mood, was doing her best to force him and Mattie together. She'd even given Mattie the don't-you-think-you-and-Jax-would-make-cute-little-babies speech a couple of times, without acknowledging the fact that Mattie was still seventeen and had no interest in having kids just yet. Not that she didn't eventually want a family, just that she saw exactly what happened when a teenager was forced to be a mother. Reese was barely nineteen when Mattie was born. And Mattie was always invested in making her life as dissimilar to Reese's as possible.

And as for Jax… She didn't know. There just wasn't any attraction there, they'd known each other for too long and grown up too close to one another for any spark to light. Sure, Mattie loved Jax, and he loved her, just not in the way that Gemma wanted. They were basically brother and sister, even if not related by any blood. Like she'd raised them to be. That was the most frustrating part. Gemma always said that family was made up of people that would kill for one another, not necessarily by mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers. Hell, she and Jackson practically had the same mother. Gemma called all three SAMCRO babies- Mattie was starting to wonder when they'd be old enough to be rid of that nickname- her kids. So why did she want two of them to start fucking one another?

Because they wouldn't break the other's heart, that's why. Mattie had been thinking about it for a long time, and that was the only conclusion she could come to. She would never ask Jax to leave Charming and he would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. Things would never be complicated between them, they'd fight and then immediately make up, but that didn't mean that they were about to fall in love any time soon. Or ever.

The infamous shower stabbing scene lit the screen, Mattie squished up against the armrest, Jax slumping into her. Their wine glasses- well, technically they were plastic juice cups since she didn't want her father to get suspicious- were practically empty, their plates filled with pizza scraps. Yeah, this definitely didn't feel like a date. It was just how Mattie and Jax hung out. Hell, they were like that when both Opie and Donna were around.

Mattie was so busy trying not to think about Tig's box of chocolates that she'd somehow found a more disturbing line of thought. In fact, she hadn't been paying attention to any of the movie, but Jax didn't seem to notice. Normally, Mattie was all for a Hitchcock marathon, but tonight… Fucking Tigger. He didn't even have to be around to get her mind all swirly. Maybe she'd get her head screwed on tighter by the time they got around to _Rear Window_. Her favorite.

By the time that _Psycho _got around to the big reveal, the phone started to ring, which made Matte jump right out of her musings. Jax gave her startled response a strange look and asked if all the gore was getting to her. Mattie just flipped him the bird and went to grab the cordless.

"Hello?"

There was the roar of loud music and cheerful shouting in the background. Whoever was calling was at the club, and Mattie was willing to bet that it was Book checking up on things. Even though Gemma was doing everything in her power to play matchmaker, Jax was one man her father didn't mind Mattie spending time alone with. But Book always called when he was planning on staying the night with the boys, so she figured that it was the requisite phone call.

"Hey! Where are you?" Tig's voice was eardrum shattering and slightly slurred.

Okay. Not Book. "Can you hang on a second?"

Mattie clapped a hand over the phone and looked towards Jax, who was watching the credits roll. She couldn't exactly have him witness a conversation with Tigger.

"Hey, Jax, it's George. He wants to give me an update on school. Do you mind starting the next one while I take this in my room?" George normally called a couple times a month to tell his big sister what was happening in his eleven-year-old world. Mattie might refuse to speak with Reese, but she did not hold that same grudge against her baby brother. Another words, it was a lie that Jax would believe.

Jax nodded her off while he popped out _Vertigo_, and Mattie fell into her bed as she lifted the phone back to her ear.

"What do you want?" She asked, annoyed. Yeah, her heart was leaping a little, but Tig didn't need to know that.

"Hey, hey, hey, Birdie, what's with the tone? It's my birthday!" Tig shouted. Obviously his drunken state made his volume control all erratic.

"Birdie? Oh, I get it, my dad is around. You know, you're not all that subtle. Making a call in the middle of your party. Very suspicious."

"Fucking right. But I wanted to know if you got my surprise, baby. I made a trip all special for you, to make your day nice." He chuckled for a moment. "It work?"

"It was a… very interesting gesture." Mattie slowly drawled. "What did you mean by it?"

"Hell, I like ya, thought I'd do something to show you. Plus, I thought you were bringin' me a present. You could still do it, ya know."

"Jax is here. So no, I can't go to the clubhouse right now."

"Oh, _baby_. You said it wasn't a date. You're breakin' my heart." Tig teased, his voice only getting progressively louder. Shit, Mattie hoped Book wasn't around. He was always good at putting two and two together.

"Sorry. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'll come to you. I _want_ you, Mattie. I want to fuck ya so bad. I want to be your first." Jesus Christ. Please, please, let her father be occupied. "I want to show you how good I can make you feel."

"I don't want to ruin your birthday, but you wouldn't be my first. Somebody else already got to me." Why was she telling him that? Why wouldn't her mouth just align with her brain and stay shut?

"We can pretend, baby. You know that song, right?" Mattie hoped he wouldn't sing. Shit. He was going to sing. "_Like a virgin, for the very first time!_"

Surely, she was dreaming. Or the wine was going straight to her head. No, that awful caterwauling was definitely happening.

Only Tigger could embarrass her through a goddamned phone line. He must've been shoveling the shots back if he was drunk enough to wail Madonna in the middle of the club. Which meant that he probably had everybody's full attention.

So Mattie did the only sensible thing she could think of. She hung up the phone.

Was it wrong if that made her just a little bit sad?

* * *

><p><strong>So… another flashback. I know this chapter was a little shorter than the others I've been posting, but I think that was a good place to stop. This was kind of a segue to the next part of the flashbacks, which I promise, are much more dramatic than this one. But I'm going to post a couple chapters of present day Mattie and Tig. PS- the song in the beginning is featured in <em>Drive, <em>which if you haven't seen, is pretty amazing. I think it gets released on DVD at the end of the month. (Plus, Ron Perlman is in it.) Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16

_Mockingbird, can't you see_

_The little girl's got a hold on me like glue_

_Baby I'm howlin' for you_

_Howlin' For You – The Black Keys_

* * *

><p>Christ. Chibs fiddled with the beer in his hands, watching as Mattie's Benz pulled into one of the spots alongside the office. It had been a couple days since he sent her that idiotic text message, one that he regretted with every fiber of his being. Why had Jax insisted that Chibs put Matilda's number into his phone? Just in case. Just in fucking case Chibs got shitfaced and decided that the one person he needed to communicate with was Mattie? Because that was exactly what he used it for. And he still felt like the biggest arse in the world. She never replied- of course not- and he'd successfully avoided her since coming back from up north. Not that it was all that difficult, really, because her trips to TM were few and far between. Although, maybe Chibs shouldn't have counted on that.<p>

He'd fucked a fair share of bitches while he was accompanying McKeevy, figuring that one of those pussies would make him forget about the strange connection he felt he had with Mattie. In reality, they'd only talked three times- three damned times and he couldn't get her out of his fucking head- and he really and truly knew nothing about her. Except that she was with Tig. But not. He wanted to ask one his brothers about their relationship, why they were so attached and yet distant, but he didn't think that the potential dramatic fall out would be worth it. Matilda was just a girl. A pretty girl, a smart girl, but just a girl. Plus, if he kept running his mouth about her, somebody was bound to get the wrong idea. Well, the right idea, really, but not where everyone else was concerned.

Bobby had already approached Chibs and told him not to press the issue. He loved his niece, and he loved the club, but he didn't necessarily want the two associated with one another any more than they already were. Chibs asked whether that meant that he didn't want Mattie and Tig together, and the Secretary raised an eyebrow like the Scot was a fucking idiot. Of course not, the look proclaimed. And did he really blame Bobby for that particular set of beliefs? Tig's sexual proclivities didn't run anywhere close to fidelity. Somebody like Mattie- there he went again, acting like they were close personal friends- deserved more than what Tigger could offer.

Chibs didn't know why he was analyzing everything so closely. There was nothing between him and Matilda, and there wouldn't ever be. He was not going to follow her, writing poems and singing her sad love songs. But there were pathetic text messages to be sent, apparently. She wouldn't tell Tig about it- would she? No, because Chibs was pretty sure that if she did, the Sergeant-at-Arms would already have strung him up by his dick. Tig set strict boundaries, which Chibs had already secretly crossed that one afternoon in the office. He wished that Mattie would've reacted to his touch, one way or another. Either pressed into his fingertips or shied away from them, instead of sitting as still as humanly possible. Maybe that was why he was so confused. Chibs had no idea whether she was interested or repulsed by his semi-advances. Anything was better than nothing at all.

So he was trying his absolute best not to notice Mattie as she climbed out of her car, setting a purse on the roof before opening the back door. She didn't look as lost as she had the first time he laid eyes on her, but there was still something distinctly foreign about her. Jax said that she'd grown up in Charming, spent almost her whole life in the small town, but Chibs couldn't see it. Maybe it was the way she dressed, which always looked too put-together to be casual. As though a lot of thought went into choosing which pair of jeans, which blouse. Not because she was vain, he didn't think that was it, but like she forced the clothing to be natural. Today, she was wearing jeans that were skinny and sat low on her waist, a narrow plane of pale skin separating them from an expensive looking emerald green sweater. Mattie might be aiming for relaxed, comfortable, but it didn't come across that way. Like she was trying so hard to fall back into the same niche that she'd occupied long ago, but wasn't quite able to find the sweet spot. Mattie'd find it eventually. Chibs was sure she would.

A little boy ran out of the Mercedes, and she called after him to be careful. Moby. Lowell's son. He'd forgotten about that arrangement, mostly because he thought it was supposed to be a temporary thing. Guess not. Mattie followed him into the garage, arms folded across her chest. Yep, she was definitely uncomfortable.

After her little detour to talk to Lowell, when her gait was headed in Chibs' direction, nervousness lit his chest. What if she asked him what exactly he meant by the text? Chibs didn't have an answer, nothing that would make sense if he spoke it aloud. Besides the physical attraction, his stupid little crush had no real explanation. If he knew her better, perhaps he could get to the root of the problem, but considering that his first inclination was to run straight into one of the dorms to steer clear of her, that wasn't too likely.

Mattie's expression was a mix of anxiety and gloom, and she kept fiddling with her rings, which she'd rotated and switched several times by the time she was close enough for Chibs to decide whether to greet her or not. This was a woman on a mission, one that didn't appear to include him, thankfully enough. She flashed a brief smile when she stopped by the picnic bench. By his side, the floral scent of her perfume wafted over him, a flower that he knew but could not name. It wasn't really the most appropriate time to ask.

"Hey, do you know if Bobby is still here?" Mattie tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she asked, those nervous hands unable to settle.

"Aye, I think he's inside. You okay, sweetheart?" The question left his lips without his permission.

"Yeah. Fine. Just had a little bit of a rough morning. Nothing to worry about, though." She replied, too quickly. Like the first time they spoke, it was an answer prepared well in advance.

Chibs nodded, and she walked inside the clubhouse. Not another word passed between them, not even a farewell. Whatever happened obviously had her worked up; she was normally a serene little thing, even when she was with Tig. Maybe serene wasn't the right word. Subtle. That was better. Like she controlled her reactions and speech, contorted them to best fit to her own strict guidelines. Or maybe she was just uncomfortable around him, specifically. Her boyfriend- if that's what Tig was, Chibs really couldn't think about that peculiar relationship any longer without his brain up and quitting- didn't want him around Mattie, didn't want them growing closer. Maybe Tig was just jealous. Chibs didn't know and he couldn't guess, either. Somebody had to have answers, but it seemed like whoever did wasn't exactly willing to share.

Sack- who of all people seemed to know Mattie much better than Chibs- exhaled heavily, flopping onto the bench next to him. The Prospect was supposed to be running wind sprints, building up his endurance, but had decided that it was time for a water break instead. Or maybe that green-hued expression had something to do with the kid's reluctance to continue training.

"If you're gonna puke, you're gonna do it while you run, grunt." Chibs growled, wanting to frighten Half-Sack into submission.

"Just need a sip. Promise." He swallowed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Prospect. Run. Now. After that, there's a jump rope with your name on it."

Half-Sack hung his head for a moment, before dropping the bottle of water back onto the worn wood table, jogging back to his little workout area. The kid was good in the ring, although not completely sure of himself yet. And now that the little tart was out of the way, the Prospect could concentrate on getting ready for his matches at the end of the week. The club had a lot riding on him, whether Sack knew it yet or not, and it was Chibs' job to make sure the kid didn't completely fuck it up. He'd been a pretty decent fighter back in his day, although a couple of injuries and a beer belly had all but taken that talent away.

The clubhouse door opened, Mattie walking out with Bobby by her side. They didn't really look related whatsoever, but Chibs guessed that was for the best. If Mattie had that same round stomach or scruffy curls, he might not be so attracted to her. Bobby told him once that she inherited most of her personality traits from her father and all her looks from her mom. His tone narrowed when he spoke about his sister, wrath filling the few words that he would say. She'd left when Mattie was young and caused a lot of problems, that's all that Chibs could get out of Bobby. Chibs got the distinct idea that Bobby had helped Book raise Mattie, for he definitely seemed closer with her than he was with some of his own children. Bobby wasn't the most sentimental man, but the Scot could sense a sort of paternal protectiveness when his niece was around.

"How's the kid doing?" Bobby asked, stretching his legs out across his side of the picnic bench, leaving no room for Mattie.

"Could be better. But he's coming along."

"What is he training for?" Mattie finally settled next to Chibs, not close enough to attract anybody's attention but his.

"Bare knuckle tournament at the end of the week." He replied, trying his best to make things more awkward than they already were.

"Boxing?" There was an odd tone in her voice, one that he couldn't quite figure out.

"Yeah. Sack's representing the club." Bobby answered, before turning to Chibs. "Her dad used to be quite the boxer. Had a mean left hook. I mean, a guaranteed knockout every time kind of left hook. Book Cardinal was one man you did not want settle things in the ring with. Especially with this one in his corner."

"Oh, really?" Chibs cast a doubtful look towards Mattie who just smiled knowingly.

"Hell yeah, man. All of a sudden, this little voice would cut across all the men trying to scream over one another, pointing out any weaknesses she could spot. And if that child told her father to use the hook, you could bet that Book's opponent would get laid the fuck out. I swear to you, Chibs. One of the weirdest things I've ever seen. And that includes her shacking up with Tigger, just so you have a frame of reference."

Mattie just shrugged in a nonchalant way, as if she were used to the ribbing. "This is the part where he's going to tell you about Lumpy's gym."

"Nope, this is the part where Uncle Bobby goes to do some damage control with Precious. Gemma told the bitch that I'd stop by to personally deliver my child support check." Bobby retorted, grunting as he stood. "I'll call Reese and tell her to lose your number."

"Thank you." Mattie chirped.

"Don't say I never did anything for you." Bobby pecked her forehead in a fatherly way before waddling away. Chibs wished him luck with Precious, which the Secretary responded to with a quick flick of his middle finger.

Mattie saw that and laughed, angling herself more towards Chibs- or maybe Sack, he couldn't exactly tell- giving him a better view down that sweater. It was a good thing that Bobby's back was turned; because Chibs doubted that he really wanted that sort of attention directed towards his niece. The lawyer. That still surprised Chibs, how she'd turned up with the exact paperwork Jax would need in order to make sure that Wendy would never have custody of Abel. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Even Gemma had been a little stunned. The Queen just looked Mattie up and down, nodded, and told her that she'd have Rosen look over them. Mattie's response, saying that Rosen was a fucking idiot that seriously overcharged for his services, still made Chibs grin. Because it was a pretty dead on assessment.

"So what was he going to tell me about Lumpy's gym?" Chibs asked.

"You're going to laugh."

"I promise I won't."

Mattie sighed in a lighthearted way, "Okay, but only because I've got leverage on you."

Ah. So here it was. "I suppose you do."

"It's okay." Her voice was quiet, pensive. Like she'd thought of what she wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to actually say it.

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have sent it. We each have enough shit going without adding whatever this is," He motioned between the both of them, "to the mix."

Mattie's fingers tangled with his for an instant, before she dropped her hand back into her lap. "You don't have to worry about it."

Her smile was easygoing, and he knew that his silly secret was safe with her. All she used were a couple words and a touch, and Chibs felt that little weight he'd been carrying from the moment his thumb his 'send' fall away. She caught his gaze, those hazel eyes flickering over his face as though she were trying to figure out exactly what the text message actually meant, if his words were drunken ramblings or fueled by something more substantial. Chibs wasn't sure. He just knew that he was attracted to the woman sitting mere inches away, and the idea that she and Tigger were potentially a conversation away from getting back together really did drive him crazy.

Trustworthy. That was another thing he knew about Mattie. Trustworthy, reserved and smart. Someday Chibs would have a long list of adjectives associated with the woman sitting by his side, whether he'd have to figure them out all by his lonesome or not.

"So are you actually fond of boxing or is Bobby pulling my leg?" Chibs asked, ready to be done with all the awkwardness.

"Come on, do you really think that growing up here, surrounded by men, I'd be watching figure skating on Friday nights? Jax, Opie and I used to stay for the fights and then Gemma would take us home. It was a tradition for a long time."

Chibs shook his head in amusement. "I guess that makes sense."

"Saturday mornings, my dad and Bobby would go to Lumpy's, hit the bags and spar a little. I always went because my father was super overprotective, thought that if he left me home alone for five minutes the house would burn down around me. And so, one day, Lumpy thought it would be funny to put me in a pair of gloves and see what happened." Mattie made a fist with her right hand, observing the knuckles carefully. "Guess all that play-fighting with Jackson made a difference."

"What does that mean?" Chibs raised an eyebrow, watching her smile broadly.

"Daddy had the left hook. I used a left uppercut. That was my favorite." She demonstrated quickly, and Chibs could feel the pride in her movements, "Lumpy trained me after that. I joined a couple of teen leagues, even though I was a little young. Nobody took an eleven-year-old girl very seriously, at least at first. But I got pretty good."

"Holy shit."

"Yup." She said. "I competed until I was about fourteen."

Mattie watched Half-Sack, the glint in her eyes a little more intense. Chibs wondered how exactly she'd made the transition from tomboy to the lovely little thing she now was. He remembered the dress she'd worn to Piney's party, the dark blue fabric gliding over her curves, and tried to envision that woman inside the ring. No. He couldn't. Female boxers were all hard angles and bulldog faces. Mattie was soft, feminine; even that time when he'd seen her in sweats and glasses. Now Chibs knew that she was girly, but tough. She could make you dinner and kick your ass. That was his sort of woman.

"Your dad must've been proud. Family legacy, and all."

"Yeah. We had matching shorts. Bright red." Mattie snorted.

"Cardinals."

"Exactly. First guess, I'm proud." She teased. "Took Half-Sack a while to figure that one out."

The Prospect heard his name and waved in a goofy way before Chibs glared at him. The pounding sound coming from the heavy bag filled the air again. "You told the kid that you were a boxing champ before you told me? I thought we were supposed to be friends." He asked, pretending to be hurt.

"I wasn't a champ. And yeah, I was dropping Moby off to go home with Lowell one day, and we just got to talking about it. Sack's a good kid, you know. A little slow and definitely weird, but a good kid."

Mattie's tone was sincere, and Chibs knew that she wasn't being sarcastic. Bobby told him once that Half-Sack was around the same age as her younger brother, the one that she hardly spoke to. Her mother's kid, that was the way that Bobby explained it. Reese took George, Book kept Mattie. Which was good, the Secretary drawled, because if Chibs thought that Sack was an idiot, he should meet George Cardinal. Ain't got but ten brain cells between the two of them, but the Prospect definitely had his nephew beat. Which was probably why Matilda was so patient with the Prospect, why she listened to him when he spoke instead of just ignoring him like everyone else.

"Why'd you quit boxing? You said you stopped when you were fourteen. Gotta be a reason."

She made a fist with her left hand, like she'd done with the right a little while ago, and held it out to him. The knuckles were completely uneven, forming irregular mountains and valleys across bone and skin. Mattie relaxed her fingers, wiggling them a little bit in the sunlight. Showing him that they worked just fine despite what she'd just displayed.

"Broke my hand during a fight. I didn't stop until the round was over, and I ended up tearing a tendon too. Doctor said I had to choose between my fist or fingers. Which was a harder decision than you'd think." Mattie sighed. "My dad loved watching me box, watching me win trophies. But I loved playing piano. So I chose that gift instead of the other."

"Was he disappointed?" Chibs asked quietly. It was a hard position to be in as parent, wanting your child to follow in your footsteps and start their own path at the same time. In his case, it was the opposite. Chibs wanted Kerrianne to choose a career as different from his as humanly possible. She'd already been through so much in such a short amount of time, all Chibs wanted to give Kerri was a sense of normalcy. Maybe Book had felt the same about Mattie.

"I don't think so. I was- am- a better pianist than I was a boxer. Fighting was a lot more about shock value than talent. And I figured it would be a lot easier to be a musician at forty-five than it would being a professional boxer."

"Probably right."

Chibs hadn't heard Mattie play, but Jax said that she was very good. So had Tigger, who had the strangest, proudest look on his face when he bragged about her musical proficiency. _Matt is pretty much the only person who can get me to listen to Beethoven and all that shit. Plus, watching a fine woman lovingly stroke the keys of a piano, well, that does a lot for me. Sexually._ Jax nearly vomited in his beer, and reminded Tig that he'd kick his ass if he kept talking about her like that. The Sergeant-at-Arms held up his hands in mock defeat, before giving Chibs a meaningful glance. What it meant, well, Chibs didn't know and he didn't particularly care. Tigger didn't own Mattie. If he had any balls at all, he'd give her his crow and call it a day. If she was going to live that sort of life, she deserved to be somebody's Old Lady. Not necessarily Tigger's, and maybe not his either, but somebody. Juice, maybe. They were probably the same age. And whatever the difference was, it wasn't fifteen or twenty years.

"I have a weird question." Mattie said, leaning into him for a few moments. He'd have to figure out what sort of perfume she wore. Flowery, clean, mixed with whatever tropical scent was wafting from her hair. The amalgam threw him for a loop.

"Shoot, love."

"Do you need help with him?" She pointed at Half-Sack. "Because I used to help my dad train, and well, you're killing that kid."

There were thousands of dollars on the line, that club needed badly. Was Chibs really going to let a stupid little crush get in the way? It would mean spending more time with Mattie, getting to really know her, but shit could go bad all sorts of different ways. Bobby had already vouched for her boxing knowledge, but it was going to be a bare-knuckle fight. Completely different from what she knew. What if Bobby was just being an uncle, not a Secretary?

"I don't know. I want to say yes, but, Christ, Matt. It's a club thing. If it weren't, I'd agree in a heartbeat." Chibs answered as gently as he could. It wasn't personal.

She shrugged. "It's okay."

"I'll ask Clay. If he okays it, I'll call you."

Mattie grinned. "You don't have to do that. I don't want to get you into trouble."

Boldly, he took her hand in his. The left, the broken one. "I want to. Even if Tig has to chaperone."

The lot was quiet, just the sound of Half-Sack and the bag. Maybe the tinny sound of a radio inside the garage, the music indistinguishable. Mattie kissed his cheek, her lips low, catching him more along his jaw. Not romantic, just grateful.

Then Moby ran out from inside the garage, interrupting the bit of silence and the faint mood of camaraderie. When Mattie left the lot, Chibs couldn't help but feel like they'd made some sort of progress, although he couldn't decide in which direction they'd gone. Romantic, platonic, maybe something else altogether.

As long as the distance between them kept narrowing, he'd figure it out sooner or later.

* * *

><p>Tig had been holding it in all goddamn day. In the morgue, at the club, and now, walking up the steps towards Mattie's front door. He didn't bother knocking or ringing the bell anymore, just let himself in, ready to succumb to the irrational anger gripping his chest.<p>

Mattie didn't know what he'd seen, but if she did… well, she probably wouldn't be curled up on her couch in the Harley-Davidson throw that he'd bought her, watching whatever movie was loudly playing on the TV. She didn't know that Tig saw her smiling and laughing with Chibs outside the club, the two of them sitting cozily on one of the picnic benches. She didn't know that Tig watched her lean in and kiss Chibs on the cheek.

Those lips, _his_ lips, touching another man. Whether the gesture was friendly or something more, it didn't matter. Not in the state of mind Tig was in, all his thoughts tossing around and gaining weight with every second he didn't tell Mattie how fucking pissed he was, how fucking jealous she'd made him without even knowing. More jealous than even thinking about her living with that asshole in New York. What was that saying? The devil you know is better than the devil you don't? Yeah, whoever said that was a motherfucking idiot. Not true. Not true, at all. Ignorance is bliss. That was up Tig's alley. If he didn't have that scene playing over and over inside his head, then maybe he wouldn't be ready to…

Shit. Tig needed to take a deep breath. Rage wasn't something he dealt with well, especially not when this injustice felt so damn personal, but Mattie didn't truly deserve whatever vicious punishments he'd been dreaming up all day. He'd never hit her before, and didn't want to find out what would happen if he did. Mattie was a good girl, however, she was not the sort to sit back and take a beating. Physically, at least. Emotionally… Well, that was another story. There was a reason she'd built those walls around herself. Reasons.

"You want something to eat? I've got leftovers I could heat up if you're hungry?" Mattie finally asked when she realized Tig wasn't going to sit down and relax. Confusion was written all over her face, but to her credit, she didn't pry. Knew better than that. No, she could read the tension in his movements, realized that he was quiet because he was pissed, and decided to steer clear of it.

"No." Tig replied, shaking his head. "Turn off the TV."

Mattie narrowed her eyes, but lifted the remote. The movie paused, but the screen didn't go black. "Tigger?"

He hated when she called him that. Not usually, hell, he loved it most of the time, but now, when he was deciding how to unfurl the hatred he'd been carefully cultivating for the past couple hours, it was too damn disarming. Coupled with the anxious twist in her too pink lips, shit. Tig didn't know how to proceed. Yelling felt like too much, talking not quite enough, but was there anything in the middle?

"Think about what you did today. Think about real hard, and you tell me why I'm angry." Tig said, trying his best to keep his tone even. If he got defensive, so would she.

"I…" She briefly closed her eyes, thinking, running through events. "Nothing out of the ordinary happened today. I mean, my mo- Reese called me, but I didn't answer. I went to talk to Bobby about it, but that's it. Otherwise, a typical Thursday."

Either she was lying, or really didn't make much of what Tig had spent so much time mulling over. "Close, but you're not there yet. At the club, think more about the club."

"If I did something that pissed you off, just tell me. I don't want to play this guessing game anymore." Mattie declared, tone descending into irritation.

Tig held his anger in check. Just barely. He did, however, snatch the remote control from her hands and switch off the television like he'd originally asked. Mattie's nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly, but he'd known her far too long to miss a tell like that. She was also mad. Good.

"You know I don't mind you being friendly with the guys. You know I don't care about that. But when you go around kissing them, well, that's when shit gets serious. I saw you and Chibs this afternoon, Matt. I watched you."

And just like that, Mattie laughed. Tipped her head back and howled. Which, of course, didn't do much for his mood. "That's it? That's what you're so worked up about? A peck on the cheek? Come on, baby, you have to be joking."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"Tigger!" Mattie exclaimed, still smiling. "No, I don't. I can interact with the opposite sex and not be attracted to them, it is possible."

Tig watched her, suspiciously. After the amount of time he'd spent being pissed at Mattie, it felt too easy to let it go without more of a fight. She'd kissed another man… on the cheek.

Okay, okay. He was starting see why she was looking at him so incredulously. It was an overreaction. But Tig had spent six years knowing that Mattie was with somebody else. He'd need to get over that betrayal, sooner or later. Although, if he really wanted to think about it- he didn't, but it was already on his mind- he'd given her plenty of reasons to leave. Probably a miracle that Mattie stayed in California as long as she did.

"Good." Tig frowned, more for effect than anything else. "Because when I tell people you're my girl, I don't want them thinking that you're Chibs' girl too."

Mattie shook her head, and he swore he saw her fighting an eye roll. "I don't know what that means. _Your_ girl. Are we like Jax and Tara? Or am I just… an attachment?"

"It means you're my girl. What else is it supposed to mean? We ain't gonna get hitched, but I'm not spending my nights here because I think your bed is comfortable. If you want me to say something more than-"

"No. Stop talking. That was enough." She grinned. "I don't think there's ever been a line more romantic than, 'we ain't gonna get hitched, but I'm not spending my nights here because I think your bed is comfortable.' I might get that stitched on a pillow or something."

"Shut the fuck up," Tig retorted good-naturedly, "You know why I was pissed, though. I don't think Chibs is interested in being just friends."

"If I'm not interested in being anything more than that, then it doesn't matter what he wants."

He nodded, agreeing with her statement but quite willing to announce that just yet. "What the hell did you kiss him for, anyway? Must've been something."

Mattie shrugged. "We were talking about boxing, about how Chibs was training Half-Sack. I asked if I could help, and he said he would ask Clay. I was excited, and didn't think about what I was doing. Nothing more. Acceptable explanation?"

"The next time, just keep your lips out of the equation. Okay?"

"I think I will."

"Good." Tig said, handing the remote back to her.

Mattie looked up at him and grinned, standing with the fleece throw still wrapped around herself. He'd bought it on a whim, standing in line at the auto-parts store, one of those items displayed around the checkout to catch the eye of impulsive buyers. Which Tig normally wasn't, but seeing the package there, a little dusty, not too over-priced, something made him reach for it and add it to his purchases. Which were just supposed to be new brake pads for the pick-up he hardly used, and not a gift for Mattie, but that was just how it'd ended up. A contribution from him to her house. Not really a present at all, really.

"So, I didn't think you were going to be in such a mood when you came over. Because I was kinda in a mood of my own, but now, I don't know…" Mattie lowered the blanket just a little, showing her shoulders. What was she doing? What was with all the theatrics?

He understood when the black and orange fleece traveled further down her body, revealing a low cut silk camisole, the flowing dark pink fabric emphasizing Mattie's curves. Shit, why mince words? It made her tits look pretty fucking amazing, tits that Tig had not seen for several months, since their little tryst in New York. Surely, it hadn't been so long? He didn't have long to dwell on that thought, though. The throw was finally tossed on the floor, no longer hiding a pair of lacey black panties that begged to be ripped off. Tig managed to hazard a glance towards her smiling mouth, her sparkling hazel eyes, before allowing his gaze to fall once again.

"I thought that we might start a new sleeping routine. Like, say, you fucking me before we fall asleep. If you're interested in such an arrangement." Mattie was being far more forward than normal, which meant only one thing- she was horny. Which, of course, made him horny. Vicious cycle and all that shit.

"Upstairs, then?" That was as eloquent as he could manage.

"That's a yes, I take it?" Oh, she'd regret being such a tease…

Tig crossed the space between them, burying one hand in Mattie's curls- the fact that they were loose and not tied back in the bun she always wore at home should've tipped him off that something was amiss… in a good way- cupping her ass in the other. Pulling her close and pressing his lips tightly against hers, letting her feel the bulge barely contained in the front of his jeans. It'd been too long since Tig had her, too fucking long, and it'd be a miracle if he could hold off until they got to her bedroom. Shit, he wanted Mattie. Ten years later, and Tig still couldn't resist her.

Was that love? Or lust? Did time change it from one to the other and then back again? Damn, why was he thinking about any of it? Tig was about to fuck a beautiful woman and emotions had no place in his actions. Pure, unbridled desire, that's what propelled him as he scooped Mattie into his arms, liking the little moan of surprise she uttered as they descended towards the stairs.

In the bedroom, Tig managed to pull away from their deep, hungry kisses just long enough tug to Mattie's camisole above her head, showing off a bra that matched her panties. All that black lace would soon meet the floor, but for now, as he slid his tongue past Mattie's lips, he was going to go a little bit slow. Sex with Mattie had always been different than with the club girls. Give and take, his and hers. There was touching, teasing, more than just the hollow shouts of a croweater pretending to have an orgasm. Because being with the croweaters was just about pleasing himself. Being with Mattie was… something better.

She moaned his name, voice biting into the sexually charged air, before rolling her hips against his, creating delicious friction between lace and denim. Bad girl, Tig idly thought, as Mattie ran her hands down his chest, fingers tangling with his belt buckle, fighting to pull the leather free. He'd let her fumble for just a little bit, although there was no way he was going to shed his jeans before Mattie's underwear came off, before he was able to admire her naked body for at least a little while.

"Nope," Tig growled when Mattie finally wrestled his belt from its enclosure, brushing her hands away, "Ladies first."

He expected a protest, but Mattie replied instead by coyly reaching towards her back, the movement pushing her lace-covered breasts forward. Tig loved that unconscious action, almost as much as the way she met his eyes when the straps of the bra tumbled down her shoulders, the cups still held taut under her arms. Mattie raised an eyebrow in silent question, teasingly asking if she should let the lace be swallowed by the bedroom floor. Tig just hooked a finger into her cleavage and pulled the bra free.

He grinned at the blush in her cheeks. Mattie didn't have anything to be embarrassed about, her body looked as good as it did at eighteen- although he'd had a few previews before that important, legal birthday, if he was completely honest. Large, firm tits, an ass that was just full enough to squeeze. And soft, pale skin dotted with both freckles and tattoos.

Already taut carnation-pink nipples had Tig's full attention though, and he rolled one between callused fingers, anticipating the buck of Mattie's hips, the arch of her back. The whimper escaping her lips. And as Tig took a rosebud into his mouth, the sharp sensation of hands threading through his hair, tugging as he gently probed that tender flesh with his teeth. Mattie liked that, the contrast of pleasure and pain, the quick bites alternated with the pressure of tongue and lips. Such a naughty girl.

When he let one hand reach between her legs, tracing the lace-covered cleft there, the hands in his curls were raked down his back. Blunt, manicured nails creating little rifts as they traveled down Tig's spine, almost making him lose all resolve. Almost making him pull those panties out of the way so that he could fuck her, so that he could find that release he'd been craving since Mattie showed up at Piney's party.

Tig wanted her at seventeen. He wanted her when he couldn't have her. He wanted her for all six years she was gone, even if he didn't say a word of that idiotic longing to anybody. And here Mattie was, all this time later, legs parted, breathy shudders catching in the crook of his shoulder as she trailed her lips down his jaw, then running her tongue along collar bone, between the planes of his chest.

He dipped a single finger into Mattie's wetness, and she threw her head back, gratification contorting her body.

"Tig-_ger_!" Two words. Or one, the syllables separated by desire.

"Tell me what you want." Tig purred, withdrawing his digits. A frown graced her lips for an instant.

"Take your pants off!" The sentence was weak, gasping, the answer obvious.

Mattie tried, once again, to undo his jeans, but Tig pushed her hands upwards, to pull the shirt she'd already unbuttoned down his shoulders. She obeyed, and denim and cotton both descended to the floorboards, shuffling against clothing already ditched.

Now, they were even, both clad in just a pair of underwear, hair disheveled, chests heaving in anticipation. It'd been way, way too long since the last time they'd had sex. Tig wouldn't allow such a lapse to happen ever again. Glancing towards Mattie's tits, those round, glorious tits with their tight blush-colored nipples, he couldn't fathom why he'd let her leave Charming in the first place. Not when his mind was committing scenes to memory, etching shapes and colors into permanence, taking in the scent of Matt's perfume mingling with his soap. Mattie had her tattoos, she had words and images printed against her skin, Tig had this. Just like he was immortalized, symbolized on flesh, she was forever tangled in his mind.

There were things Tig wanted to say, sentiments he wanted to utter, but they were locked up tight in the back of his throat. For now, it wouldn't matter if they left his lips. Those words, even in silence, were palpable. She knew. Mattie knew. She wouldn't ask for them, she wouldn't beg, but she knew that Tig loved her in his own unpredictable way.

Tig watched Mattie scurry further back onto her bed, her coy, wordless way of declaring that whatever foreplay they'd been pawing at was done. The body language would've been lost on another man, but Tig could read her. After all the goddamn time he'd known Mattie, her body language was as loud and direct as actual speech, especially in bed. Although, there were some times that she wasn't so subtle. Like now, when Mattie slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping warm, slim fingers around his cock.

He grinned, broadly- too broadly- as her palm ran up and down his length, her expertise betraying that innocent, quiet manner she normally exuded. An angel in public, a little seductress in bed. Tig liked that strange dichotomy, almost as much as the wicked smile spreading across Mattie's lips. His girl… Tig closed his eyes for a moment, unable to think while she stroked his dick. The thought was lost, replaced only by the decision to roll those lace panties down her ass and get down the business they'd delayed for so long.

Mattie yielded, wriggling her hips up and away from the mattress as her underwear were tossed away. They were pretty, cupping her ass and veiling her pussy, but Tig wanted to be rid of them.

Again, he placed a finger inside her, loving the way that Mattie pressed into the touch, begging for more by just uttering a shuddering moan. Tig slipped his boxers down, and the corners of Mattie's mouth tugged into an appreciative grin. Whatever allure that asshole Patrick held, it certainly wasn't because of the size of his cock. That might be reading into things, but he was sure that Matt sighed dreamily as he added his own underwear to the now complete pile on the floor.

Straddling Mattie, both of them completely naked, Tig paused. Normally, with somebody besides her, he'd be done by now, shoving the bitch out of his bed without a second thought. But there was Matt, watching him with this intense note of trust in her eyes- no doubt, no suspicion, no fear. Waiting for him to proceed, complete confidence etched into those hazel orbs. That's why he never fought to keep her a separate entity from the club- his brothers and his girl always had complete faith in him. It was a strange sort of power, a strength that Tig didn't acknowledge very often but always carried. But that sort of trust, coming from a woman, scared him in a way he couldn't describe. Well, no, reciprocal trust scared him. Which Tig always had with Mattie.

Full disclosure. All or nothing, that was how it had to be in SAMCRO. It worked until it didn't- which was to say, until Tig fucked things up. But, this time, he wouldn't. Christ, he would try so fucking hard to keep things whole, to keep from breaking Mattie, like he managed to do every goddamn time. Sometimes, Tig wondered if the amount of trust she had in him was too much, and worse, if it would ever run out.

"Baby?" Her voice, tentative, lit the very silent air. Those hazel eyes searched his, that trust replaced by gentle concern.

Tig smiled, not a grin, not a smirk, but a complete smile, which Mattie instantly returned. Everything was okay. For now, trust and emotions could wait.

Positioning himself at her entrance, he waited for her left hand to be raised to his shoulder- the broken one, the one she babied- the right tangled in his hair again. Mattie was unbelievably, deliciously wet, ready for him. Already prepared, Tig thought with a mental grin, finally, finally, slipping his cock into Mattie, allowing a second for her to accommodate him.

Shit. She was as tight as she was at eighteen, and just as eager. Mattie's groans mingled with his grunts as he filled her, as the walls of her pussy gripped his dick so snugly that Tig forgot about everything that'd been worrying him lately. No more Lowell Harlan Sr., no more worrying about paying back the Irish, no more danger creeping closer and closer to Charming. Just her fingers along his skin, moving with renewed fire. Nails dancing across flesh, marking him, tearing into his spine. His name cried over and over. The wet sound of sex. The smell of sex mixed with the jasmine of Mattie's perfume. A louder moan as Tig took a nipple between his lips. Even louder when lips were traded for teeth.

He was almost there. So was Mattie, eyes closed, head thrown backwards, the sounds coming from her mouth no longer tangible, just noise. Desire, pleasure, voiced by just shouts and cries. A back arched, tits pressed tightly into his chest as Tig kissed Mattie, kissed her roughly and eagerly. He needed her. For six fucking years he needed her, and here she was, skin-to-skin, as close as two people could get.

Mattie broke her mouth away, fingers clawed at his back, and she shouted his name into her bedroom, unabashedly screaming. Tig felt her tighten around his dick, felt the surge of her orgasm travel from her body to his, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He came, hard, answering her cries of Tigger with a loud moan of Mattie, distorting it into a long, rigid syllable of guttural pleasure.

As Tig rolled to her side, trying to catch his breath- he was fit for a man of almost fifty, but shit, if he was going to huff and puff because of a good fuck, that was fine with him. Better than good, actually. Great? Amazing? He didn't think long, because Mattie's lips came crashing down on his, stealing his trail of thought with her kiss. She was tender, slightly sweaty velveteen skin cascading against his calluses, fingers twining together, sentiments declared through action rather than words. Because Mattie understood that there were things Tig wanted to say but couldn't.

And apparently, that was quite fine with her.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I know this took a little longer to post, but that was because I spent the <em>longest<em> time writing and editing the second half. It was the first time I'd written something kind of smutty, and hopefully, I didn't do a terrible job. But I was determined to finish it tonight- well, where I live, it's technically morning- and even though I'll probably be a mess tomorrow- today?- I managed to get it all done. Even made a playlist of raunchy songs to keep my head in the game, haha. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and please review and let me know what you think!**


	17. Chapter 17

_I had a way then, losing it all on my own_

_I had a heart then, but the queen has been overthrown_

_And I'm not sleeping now, the dark is too hard to beat_

_And I'm not keeping up the strength I need to push me_

_You show the lights that stop me turn to stone_

_You shine it when I'm alone_

_And so I tell myself that I'll be strong_

_And dreaming when they're gone_

_Lights – Ellie Goulding_

Mattie's foot was glued to the gas, her thoughts whirling in a thousand different directions. She was worried out of her goddamned mind, and the fucking car wasn't helping one bit. Wasn't it supposed to be a marvel of modern engineering? What good was the Mercedes anyway if she couldn't drive any faster than the vehicle crawling in front of her? Frustrated as hell, Mattie tried to take a deep breath, but the quick inhales and exhales just kept coming. She was terrified. No, something much worse than that, a feeling that didn't have any words associated with it. An affliction that existed in the physical realm and the mental. Her body ached, her thoughts were jumbled, her hands kept shaking.

All Mattie knew was that she needed to get to Lowell's apartment as quickly as possible and with the SUV leisurely cruising ahead of her, well, the only plan she had wasn't working out.

Moby wasn't at school. His teacher waited fifteen fucking minutes after Mattie arrived to pick him up that the little boy was never dropped off that morning, and nobody called him out sick either. She almost smacked the stupid bitch, was ready to summon her best Gemma impression to tell the cunt off, but that wasn't important. Not then. Her entire body radiated with rage and anxiety, and she needed to call Lowell to see what was wrong. Maybe Moby caught a cold or something, even if he was perfectly fine the day before. But the asshole didn't pick up his phone, not at home or his cell, so she called Teller-Morrow, figuring that maybe, just maybe, he took Moby to work with him. Not likely, but a hell of a lot better than any of the scenarios running through her head. Jax ended up picking up the office phone, his familiar voice soothing Mattie just a little bit.

But the answer to her question- is Lowell around?- did nothing to help the nervousness eating a hole in her abdomen. Nope, Jax replied, never showed up to work that morning. Gemma was pissed. And so Mattie said thank you and promptly hung up, sitting in her car, trying to figure out the best plan of action. And that was why she was stuck behind the slowest driver in the whole state of California, ready to dissolve into tears. Even when he was looking to score, Lowell was always responsible. If he knew that he wasn't going to be able to take care of his son, he brought Moby over to Mattie's. They'd become a tag-team of sorts, Mattie watching Moby during the day, Lowell taking the night shift. And Lowell had been so good lately. Clean for at least a couple weeks. She'd been stupid enough to think that it would stick.

Or maybe she should've anticipated that he would unravel after the news that his father was buried in a hole out on 44. Lowell loved his old man out of fear, and had this crazy dream that one day Lowell Sr. was going to come back completely sober and welcome him back in open arms. Mattie should've insisted that Moby spend the night so Lowell could get his head on straight. Instead, she dropped the boy off at his apartment, and went over to Donna's to have a glass of wine and some conversation. Damn it. She'd never forgive herself if something happened to Moby.

But Mattie couldn't think like that. She needed to be positive. Moby was probably sick, and Lowell decided to stay home and take care of him. Or maybe Crystal was spending the day with both of them. Nothing was wrong. Christ, she was always a glass half-empty kind of girl. A big fan of Murphy's Law- anything that can go wrong, will go wrong- Mattie had always been a pessimist, even as a kid. Not that she was the kind of person to rain on everybody else's parade, just on her own. Book liked to tell his daughter that she should look on the bright side of things, and she usually did her best to try, but today was one of those times where her best was coming up way, way short.

Mattie needed to talk to somebody. Jax, maybe Donna. They would reassure her, tell her not to worry, that everything would be okay. Except she really wanted to hear Tigger's voice, wanted to close her eyes and pretend that he was there with her. Holding Mattie to his chest, pressing his lips into her hair and whispering something sweet and supportive. He wasn't exactly that type of man, not normally, but he always fucking knew how to make her feel better. How, she had no damned idea. Tig just had a way of keeping all her broken pieces together until Mattie could handle them again.

And so she called him, hoping that he would pick up. Mattie would pray, if she believed in any of that stuff, but she didn't, not really. That sort of church wasn't the kind that Book held any reverence for. Neither had Gemma, and she treated the concept of God with something akin to disdain. Mattie didn't know what to think about any of it. She didn't particularly buy into the idea of God or religion, but didn't knock anybody who did. Patrick was the kind of lapsed Catholic that attended services on Christmas and Easter. Reese was a born again Christian, though originally Jewish, and sometimes reached out to Mattie because 'God wanted her to.' That was probably why Matilda didn't care for Him. If He wanted Reese to have contact with her daughter, then He might've thought about working that sort of magic all those years ago.

Tig didn't pick up. It went straight to voicemail, which meant that his phone wasn't even on. Fuck. Mattie thought about tossing her iPhone- it was the one luxury that she truly believed she couldn't live without- onto the floor of the passenger's side, but decided to try somebody else. Not Donna, she'd still be at work at this time of day. And Jax was still dealing with the ATF agent bothering Tara. Mattie didn't need to add her problems to his plate. Opie was a good listener but a terrible conversationalist on the phone- whenever he put his lips to the receiver, all he seemed to utter were awkward silences and the same couple sentences over and over. Then there was Gemma, whose frost seemed to be melting, but Mattie didn't want to press her luck.

She could try to get a hold of Chibs. Surely that wouldn't be overstepping her bounds? They'd been spending a decent amount of time with one another since Clay okayed her assistance in Half-Sack's training. Chibs had been on his best behavior, only a few flirty comments, no more long glances that trailed up and down her body. Maybe a couple quick touches here and there, but other than that, she couldn't find any faults. Mattie enjoyed his company, she really did. The Scot was funny, telling her little stories about Juice or her uncle while they worked. And he was quick, whenever she'd say something sarcastic or teasing, he'd respond with his own little biting comment. Chibs was easy to talk to. They chattered like children, Bobby said one evening as he walked past the pair on his way to the clubhouse, before giving Mattie a meaningful look. _Don't piss off Tigger._ That's what he was trying to articulate without words.

Tig was a little more possessive than normal, but she expected that. He couldn't refuse to let her participate in Half-Sack's training- yes, she was a pushover when it came to Tigger, but he did not have the right to tell her what she could and could not do- so he took to pulling her into long embraces all while lovingly caressing the curve of her ass or gently resting his fingers on the swell of her breasts. Chibs asked why she let him do things like that, why he was allowed to fuck every woman in sight and then crawl back to her, and she didn't have much of an answer. Because they had history. Because Mattie would never get over that love she once had. Because she wanted to believe that he still felt something for her in return. Like God, she wasn't sure that Tig's love existed. Call it a crisis of faith.

And it felt so fucking good when he put his hands on her, even if it was just to prove a point. Mattie told herself that if he was worried she might go off with another man; Tig probably did have some lingering feelings for her. Or he was just a chauvinistic asshole. That was probably it, but it was nice to pretend that there was something substantial still connecting them. He loved her once. Whether it was enough to weather the six years she'd abandoned him, Mattie had no idea. She hurt too. He broke _her _heart, although no one seemed to remember it that way. Least of all Mattie.

Donna told her to give up on Tig. There were plenty of decent men in Charming- she left David's name unsaid, but Mattie was sure that was where her friend was going- that Matt could settle down with. Why she'd ever choose Tigger, well, Donna didn't understand. Opie was at least kind and gentle, even if he was a Son. He wasn't a sex fiend and he wasn't a psychopath- Donna and Jackson must've talked, Mattie thought- and he was capable of loving another human being besides himself. Her best friend just wanted her to be happy, but Donna was going about it the wrong way. Wasn't Mattie trying her best to keep her nose out of Donna's business? She hadn't told Donna to suck it up and embrace the club, even though she wanted to scream it as loud as she possibly could. But she stayed quiet. Donna, however, was not the same way, and when she had something on her mind, well, you could bet your ass that she'd talk your ear off until everything was taken care of. Except sometimes, things weren't always so fixable.

Especially not Tig and Mattie. One day, probably soon, she knew they were going to have to go their separate ways, but for now, she was enjoying the semi-relationship they'd assembled. And she would, until Tigger decided that whatever leftover feelings he had for Mattie weren't enough to forge on into something romantic. So forgive her, if Matt wasn't ready for the heart stomping to begin just yet.

And goddamn, the sex was good. They hadn't lost that connection. No. Definitely not, she thought, breaking out of her terrible mood for just a second. If Tig didn't find his calling in the Sons of Anarchy, he might've had a promising career as a male prostitute.

Keeping one eye on the road, Mattie flipped through her phonebook, looking for Chib's name. She connected the phone to the car's audio system- a fancy little setup that Patrick had added on because of all the laws against talking on one's cell while driving in New York- so once she heard the ringing over the Mercedes' speakers, Matilda set the iPhone in its designated spot inside one of the cup holders. It was easy to access and kept the cell from sliding around and falling on the floor, plus close enough that she didn't have to scream for the receiver to pick up her voice.

"Hey, lass, where are you? Got the Munson gene for lateness, huh?" Chibs greeted, and Mattie could feel her breathing start to regulate.

"No, I ran into a problem."

"Did Tiggy finally forbid you from seeing me?" He asked lightheartedly. "Seeing our love has probably become too much for him to handle."

"Very funny." Mattie paused to stomp on her brakes as yet another traffic light turned red. "But no. I went to pick up Moby from school, and his teacher told me that Lowell never dropped him off in the morning. And then when I called the garage, Jax said that Low never showed up to work. No call out, nothing."

"Shit. You headed over to his house?"

"Yeah, but traffic has been driving me fucking nuts. Every car in front me is going the goddamn speed limit or slower." Mattie sighed in relief as the light switched to green, gunning the Benz across the intersection with little regard for her own safety, or anybody else's for that matter.

"Love, it's gonna be okay. You'll get there soon and everything will be fine."

"What if it isn't? What if Moby got kidnapped or something and Lowell's out on a binge with no idea? Of if-" Mattie's words fell out of her mouth at an alarming rate, ready to describe all the terrible things she was expecting to find at Lowell's apartment. But Chibs interrupted her.

"Shh, Matt. Stop. Worrying like that is going to make things worse. Take a deep breath, slow down, and just drive. Turn on the radio to distract yourself. Promise me, lovely. Promise."

"Okay. How's our kid? Ready for his fights tonight?" They'd taken to calling Half-Sack their child, because, well, he kind of was. He needed somebody to constantly keep an eye on him or he'd get into trouble. Mattie swore that he was worse than Moby, and he was at least twenty years older.

"The Prospect misses you. Says I'm too tough on him."

"Ain't that the truth." There. She was literally one block away from Lowell's shitty apartment. "Hey, I'm almost there. I'll call you later."

"You won't have to. You're gonna make sure Moby's safe, which he is, and you're gonna come to the club to watch our son grow up big and strong." Chibs was trying his best to make her smile, even if he couldn't see it.

"Bye, Chibs."

"See you a bit, Matt."

He hung up just as she pulled into one of the free spots on the street. Not bothering to lock the car or take her phone- really, as long as Moby was fine, Mattie would be perfectly okay if somebody stole the Mercedes- she jogged inside the stuffy building. There was no elevator, and Matt ignored her burning thighs as she climbed all four flights of stairs, beyond ready for the ordeal to be over with. It didn't matter that Moby wasn't her biological child, and that she was just supposed to just be the babysitter. She loved that kid. If Lowell's crank habit did anything to hurt that child… well, she didn't know how she would react. Mattie's first instinct would be to hurt him right back.

The door was locked, and Matt fumbled on to find the right key on her ring. His had one of those plastic caps on it, to mark it as important, and if only she could remember which color she'd designated. The Mercedes' was red, her house pink, and Tig's dorm room blue. Green. Lowell's apartment was the key with the bright green cover, because that was Moby's favorite color. By the time Mattie barged inside, her heart was beating hard against her chest. It was the moment of truth and she was unbelievably nervous about what she might find. Or not find.

Tentatively, she shouted Lowell's name, followed by Moby's, walking through the living room and the kitchen. Nobody answered, and she headed towards the two tiny bedrooms at the rear of the apartment. She'd walked by the bathroom twice before she noticed the chair wedged against the door, underneath the knob. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Moby! Moby?" Mattie's voice was shrill as she tossed the blockage aside, movements so frantic that she didn't manage to wrench the door open the first time.

Moby was sitting underneath the pedestal sink, wrapped up in a ratty towel. Shivering and crying, the little boy looked up at Mattie with such surprise and happiness that her heart shattered into a million pieces. She tugged him into her arms, lifting him away from the cold white tiles. He didn't deserve to be locked in there, all alone. Lowell was gone, and he decided to leave his son in the bathroom with just a towel to keep warm. Mattie did not think she'd ever been so furious in all twenty-seven years of her life. But the relief at finding Moby in one piece turned that rage into tears as she carried him away from the bathroom, cradling Moby as closely as she could manage without suffocating him.

"What happened, honey, what happened?" Mattie asked, stuttering through her sobs. "Where's Daddy?"

"Daddy told me that we were going to play hide-and-seek and that I had to count in the bathroom. When I got to twenty, I tried to open the door and it wouldn't go. I yelled for him, for a long time. Why wouldn't Daddy want me to find him?" Moby calmed down as Mattie set him on his bed, before she went searching for the small suitcase he used when he stayed overnight.

"I don't know, kiddo. Did he tell you where he was going to go? Or did he just leave?"

"Just left. I sleeped in the tub. It was cold, Mattie." He sniffled. "Where we going? To find Daddy?"

"Not right now, Mobes. I think we should get you some clothes and head over to my house. I'll see if Tigger can find your dad for us. Does that sound okay?" How he'd be able to track down Lowell, she wasn't sure. She'd tried all the usual methods, but maybe he'd have a better idea.

"Yeah. I'm sleeping over?"

"Yup. I'll take you home and you can take a nap in the guest bedroom, with all the fluffy blankets. And Willow will sleep by your feet, like she always does. And once your nap is done, you can help me make some chicken noodle soup for dinner. How does that sound?"

"Good. Will Tigger come over once he finds Daddy?" Moby asked. He and Tig got along like bandits, and the little boy loved it when Tig play-wrestled with him. He might beat the shit out of people on a regular basis, but there was a soft spot inside Tigger. Which Mattie fall just that much harder for him.

"Maybe." She replied.

Once she'd packed some things for him and left a note on the counter saying in very frank words that Lowell better call her the moment he got home, they went back out to the Mercedes, which was still sitting in its spot, untouched. Her phone was beeping, which it did whenever she missed a call, and she looked at it as Moby got situated in the backseat. Two missed calls from Tig, and a text each from him and Chibs.

**Hey, just want to check and see how things went.**

_Chibs told me what was going on. I'm worried. Call me, baby. I want to make sure everything is okay._

She'd answer them both later, when she brought Moby home and got him all warm and cozy.

The ride back to her house seemed to be infinitely shorter than the one to the apartment, and Moby passed out the second Mattie turned on the engine. She made two separate trips inside once they got home, one with Moby in her arms and the other with his suitcase. Once he was snoring upstairs, she sat on the porch, needing a cigarette desperately. Mattie hadn't smoked in a long time, because Patrick considered the activity disgusting. In her youth, she used to sit on the roof of the clubhouse and smoke with Jax and Opie, thinking that they were being so sneaky about it. Bobby had been the one to scold her- a fourteen year old girl should not be chain smoking was his argument- but he eventually gave up on trying to punish her. Her uncle was not the best disciplinarian, especially when it came to Mattie.

Lighting up a Pall Mall, she pulled out her cell. Unlike the first time she tried to get in contact with Tig, he picked up on the first ring.

"Are you okay? Is Moby okay?" Tig asked, his voice just a touch higher than normal. "Christ, baby, answer me!"

"We're good, now. Shaken up, but fine." She replied softly, enjoying the smoke curling from between her lips. Nicotine was exactly what she needed. A joint would be better, but Mattie figured it wouldn't be so responsible with Moby in the house.

"I'll kill him, I swear to God, I'll kill him if he hurt that kid. Or you. Especially you." His growl made her upper thighs tingle in an absolutely inappropriate way.

"Tigger, we're okay."

"What happened? What did that bastard do?"

She explained how she found Moby in the bathroom, all alone. Lowell was off getting high, and his son was shivering underneath the sink. Terrified. Maybe Lowell thought that Mattie would be by sooner, or that the school would've called to tell her that Moby never made it in that morning. Matt was one of his emergency contacts, Lowell had to the foresight to add her when she started watching Moby. That stupid fucking school. It wasn't completely their fault, but if they bothered to call more than just his junkie father and deadbeat mom, maybe she could've found him hours ago.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm glad that he's home safe, with you."

"Yeah, but I don't know how I'll make it to the fight. Can't exactly bring Moby with me, now can I?" She really wanted to go, but it was sort of impossible with a five-year-old. But Sack would do well, whether Matt was in his corner or not. How's that for positive thinking?

"Shit. I forgot. Donna, maybe? Throw her a couple bucks and ask her to watch him for the night? The kid is excited to make you proud, even if it's fixed."

Fixed. Of course the fight was fixed. Jesus Christ, why was she so stupid? If Half-Sack made it to his last match and took a fall, the club stood to win a lot of money. Mattie also had the ridiculous idea that she might put some cash on the line, because she actually wanted him to win it all, but now… It didn't matter. She wasn't even going to be able to go; so that five hundred that she withdrew from her bank account was just going to get deposited back in tomorrow.

"After all he's been through today, I don't know, it seems cruel. To pass him around like that. And if the Prospect is just going to lose, well, fuck it, right?"

"Oh, come on. I can't believe Chibs didn't tell you. Bitch at him." Tig huffed. "He's eagerly waiting for your call. I can see him checking his phone every five seconds to see if you answered him yet."

"Then maybe we should hang up." Mattie didn't mean to sound so irritated. She was just emotionally exhausted.

"Fine. Talk to your fucking boyfriend, then."

"You're being impossible." He had a bad habit of making things more difficult than they needed to be.

"And what, I'm supposed to happy that you're flirting with one of my brothers? Every time he glances your way, it's one long eye fuck that I have to put up with."

Fuck him. One moment he was willing to kill for her, the next he was accusing her of being with other men. Maybe Donna was right. Stability, not insanity, was starting to sound real good right about now.

"You never had to worry about my fidelity. _Never_. So don't you dare go accusing me of things you know I'm not doing, Tigger." Mattie snorted, "You told me to come back. You told me that you needed me. I don't know why I believed it. I'm such a sucker."

He didn't reply, and she thought for a moment that he hung up on her. This was not the way they were supposed to be having this conversation. Not over the phone, not after what she'd been through all day. Over drinks, in her kitchen, that was how Mattie was going to handle it. When she would be able to actually think about what she wanted to say, not just letting her lips move without any direction. Finesse. Whenever it came to defining things with Tig, she needed finesse.

"I ain't about to talk about this over the goddamn phone, Matt. You're really pissing me off."

"Oh, good. That's exactly what I was aiming for."

"Fuck you. Go back to being that perfect angel, blaming everything on me. I'm sick of it. You're not always the innocent one. You flirt with Chibs just as much as he flirts with you."

"You're know you're the only man I'm with, so quit yelling at me." She shot back, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "And you have made it perfectly clear that I'm not your Old Lady. I wasn't six years ago, and I'm not now."

"And bitch, you won't ever be."

That was it. Mattie could only take so much abuse. Dropping her phone into her lap, not caring if he hung up or not, she bawled. Mattie didn't care who could see her. Being Tig's Old Lady was something that she knew was unattainable, but hearing him say it, clear as day, it was more than she could handle.

Tig didn't love Mattie. He fucked her, but he didn't love her.

And it absolutely _killed_ her.

**A/N: Okay, I know this chapter was a little depressing, but everything can't be coming up roses, right? I'm not sure whether the next chapter is going to be a flash back or present day, but I probably won't be able to post it until either Sunday or Monday night. Between the Superbowl and my brother's birthday, this weekend is looking pretty crazy. But if I decide to go with present day- which I'm kind of leaning towards- it'll probably keep going down that road for at least a chapter or two. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	18. Chapter 18

_Today_

_You were far away_

_And I_

_Didn't ask you why_

_What could I say_

_I was far away_

_You just walked away_

_And I just watched you_

_What could I say_

_About Today – The National_

* * *

><p>Mattie sat next to Moby on the piano bench, giggling with him. She was supposed to help him practice <em>Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star<em>, but they were really just banging around on the ivories, making different noises. Moby especially liked it when she showed him some of the minor chords, because they sounded 'tough.' And he loved trying to imitate the way her fingers stretched to reach all the different keys. Every afternoon the pair bummed around in front of the instrument, usually starting out together until Moby grew bored. After that, she'd play and he'd lie on the ground and draw. Then they'd make dinner. It was a little routine that Mattie threw together after Clay told her that she'd be watching Moby full time for a while, until Lowell got out of rehab. If he got out of rehab. Neither Clay nor Mattie were particularly confident about the end result.

She hadn't been to the club in nearly two weeks. Gemma asked her if she wanted to help out in the office a couple days a week- a very Gemma-style peace offering- but Mattie couldn't bring herself to actually agree. She needed the separation from Tig. Seeing him- or rather, seeing him with all those other women- there was no way that she'd be able to handle that. Not now. Mattie pretended that she was strong, that nothing that Tigger did really affected her, but it was all a great big lie. He hurt her. And she didn't even know why it hit her like it did.

Becoming his Old Lady was never an option. Not because she didn't love him, because she did and unfortunately, always would, but it was something that Tigger never wanted. He was perfectly fine with keeping her close without making things official. Which made sense when she was younger, but now? Mattie was an adult that could and would make her own decisions. She wasn't seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one. Age had made her wiser, smarter. Mattie knew who she was without him. And she knew how to be that same person when she was with him. Even though she was quieter and more thoughtful than she'd been at seventeen, Matt hadn't really changed all that much. Things in her life were more defined, more black and white, but she was the same girl. Now that Matilda lived in Charming, without all the bells and whistles of New York, she'd figured some things out. Like that she needed to be in California, with or without Tig.

She really wanted their relationship to work out. Terribly. But after hearing in no uncertain terms that it wasn't ever going to head in the direction she needed it to head, well, fuck it. She could exist without him. It would be difficult at first- understatement of the year, the whole ordeal was butchering her hard earned emotional stability- but there was plenty that she could distract herself with. Like taking care of Moby. That was what she threw herself into, ready to be done with all the misery. The misery that Mattie saw coming miles away, but didn't do anything to stop. Just as much as it was Tig's fault she hurt so badly, it was hers too. Mattie had a heavy hand in her own demise, which did not make anything any easier. Self-destruction was always a talent of hers. It was really the only thing that Reese Cardinal ever taught her daughter.

Jax had been trying to convince her to come by the MC, just to grab a drink with him and Opie. He was trying to cheer her up, but she knew that he was dealing with shit just like she was. Well, by shit, she meant Tara. At least his first love wasn't a sociopath. And Tara wanted him back, unlike Tig. Jax had his personal life on track, and Mattie's was so derailed that she didn't think it could ever be truly fixed. There were temporary fixes she could apply, but patches weren't the kind of repair she needed.

Maybe she should ask Donna to watch Moby for a couple hours and hang with Jax, just for a little bit. He was always a good person to talk to when life got fucked up. So was Opie, but he'd been having his own problems with Donna, so Mattie didn't want to make things more complicated than they already were.

And then there was Chibs. Mattie just didn't know what to do about him. He said he understood why she wanted to stay away from the club. And that it wasn't because of him. Well, it sort of was, plus she was embarrassed as all hell to let him see what sort of a mess she could be. Since Moby was done with school for the summer, her uniform had quickly turned into ratty sweats and flip-flops. Not even cute, girly sweats, but droopy grey pants usually with a white tank thrown over top. At least she wasn't devouring ice cream by the quart. Well, she and Moby had eaten a lot of cookie dough a couple nights ago. And raw brownie batter the day before that. Actually, Mattie was pretty sure every time they attempted to bake dessert it usually ended up in their mouths instead of the oven. If that wasn't just as pathetic as a freezer full of Ben and Jerry's, Mattie would really like to see what was.

But at least Chibs was being sweet. He sent her a couple texts everyday, ranging from filling her in on whatever stupid thing Sack had done that afternoon- stealing an ambulance had been her favorite- to telling her that she should come by the club because Tig was out. It was his way of saying that he missed her, which made her cheeks burn. Just because things ended with Tig didn't mean that she had to jump immediately in with the next guy.

And she wasn't thinking that just because there was a tiny piece of her that still wanted Tigger to take her back. No. Not at all. Besides, she liked having Chibs as a friend. He was really the only person in her little circle that didn't know every single dirty detail of her life, which was refreshing as hell. Switching a platonic relationship for something deeper, well, Mattie didn't know if she wanted that, now or ever.

Bobby had told Mattie that whatever went down with Tig went down for a reason. It wasn't a matter of him falling back in love with Mattie, because her uncle was positive that the man did and just didn't want to admit it. Tig cared about Mattie, but he was too wrapped up in his own masculine bullshit to act on his feelings. If Tig was going to walk around with his head up his ass, let him. One day, maybe not tomorrow and maybe not next year, he'll figure shit out. And it might be too late for him, and he'll have to deal with the consequences. Not Mattie, Bobby soothed. And then he gave her a couple muffins and went on with his day.

Christ, she loved her uncle. Always knew exactly what to say to make her feel even the smallest bit better. With his words and his baked goods. He'd been the one to teach her how to cook, because Book had been pretty terrible in front of a stove. Her father could boil a box of macaroni, fry a ham steak, but ask for anything more difficult than that and you were shit out of luck. If it hadn't been for Bobby and Gemma, Mattie would've looked like a refugee. And she would've fit right in with all the women in New York. Mattie might not have Bobby's full belly, but she did not have one of those yoga-ed, juice-cleansed figures either. Which, for where she was currently at in life, did not particularly bother her anymore.

The doorbell rang while Mattie and Moby were laughing about all the awful sounds they were making with the piano, and she got up to answer it, ruffling his hair along the way. Checking through the bit of stained glass that bordered the door on each side, Mattie didn't recognize whoever was standing on the other side. A woman, that was all she could see. And the car in the driveway wasn't familiar either.

"Hello?" Mattie greeted, putting one hand on her hip. In the corner of her eye, she could see Moby turn around to see who she was talking to.

"Matilda Cardinal? Or Muldoon, I don't know what you prefer." The woman asked in a very official tone. Did Patrick send somebody to talk to her? They were pretty much squared away as far as the divorce went.

"Cardinal. And you are?" Suspicion crept into her voice, because Book had taught Mattie never to trust strangers, especially when they were asking you questions.

"Agent June Stahl. ATF, Stockton office. May I come in?"

Club business. If this bitch was ATF, it had something to do with the Sons of Anarchy. "May I ask what this is regarding?" Mattie countered.

"Ah, I see that Gemma taught you very well, baby girl." Was that intentional? How could she possibly know about that nickname? "The Sons of Anarchy and their criminal activities. Now, allow me inside and we'll get down to business."

She stepped through the doorframe without letting Mattie get out of the way. Moby's face was etched in confusion as the ATF agent walked into her living room. The blonde woman was nobody that he knew, that's what that wide-eyed expression conveyed. Even five-year-olds were well versed in stranger danger.

Mattie tried her best not to cast a glare at Agent Stahl for interrupting her perfectly normal day before walking over to the little boy. "I've got to talk to this lady for a while, Mobes. Why don't you take Willow upstairs and watch TV in my bed? I'll be right up when we're done, and you and me can watch a movie. Sound good?"

"Yup!" Moby replied, jumping off the bench and calling for the dog. Willow was the most mellow animal Mattie had ever owned, and had not even bothering to leave her spot to inspect the strange person in the house. She came flopping after Moby however, and their heavy footsteps bounded up the stairs.

Stahl smirked at Mattie, her light brown eyes not reflecting the smile. With her dirty blonde hair, high cheekbones and square jaw, she looked less like a government agent and more like a model playing one in a photo shoot. She certainly had the uniform down, with her no nonsense charcoal blazer and slacks, a crisp white button down underneath. If Mattie had been anybody else, if she'd been raised in another life, Stahl might have intimidated her. But she'd dealt with cops before- and that's what the woman was, a glorified detective- who wanted to do nothing more than step on toes.

"We can talk in the dining room." Mattie said, leading Stahl in and pointing to one of the chairs. The room was hardly ever used, and probably never would be, considering that Clay and Gemma's place was the one used for SOA family gatherings. Although, Mattie was still unsure whether she'd receive an invite for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Six years had changed an awful lot, even if Gemma was being far warmer than she'd been upon Mattie's return.

"Thank you, Matilda. Well, Mattie, right? That's what they call you." Stahl sat, taking out a folder from her leather tote. Mattie had something similar when she worked in New York, although hers had been a gift from Patrick, who never skimped when it came to presents. Looking at Stahl, Mattie was vaguely reminded of what Hannibal Lecter said to Clarice Starling in _Silence of the Lambs_, about Clarice having a nice bag but cheap shoes. Not that Mattie was any better in her baggy sweatpants and white tank top.

"By 'they,' I'm assuming you mean the Sons of Anarchy."

"Yes. That is what I'm referring to. Now, I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions involving your knowledge of their criminal activity, and I just need you to be cooperate and answer them." Stahl leaned forward in an attempt to seem menacing.

"You're talking to the wrong person. I'm not involved in the club in any way." Mattie answered, not breaking her eye contact with Stahl. She wasn't the kind of girl that could be broken easily, and certainly not by a stranger. In her experience, it was the people that knew you the best that could hurt you the worst.

The blonde sighed theatrically. "Your uncle is Bobby Munson, MC Secretary. And your father," She flipped a rap sheet towards Mattie, "Was Wyatt- excuse me, Book- Cardinal. Did six months in Stockton for assaulting a man that didn't pay his debt, from what I understand. A sort of club enforcer, right?"

"So what? I'm a daughter and a niece. Doesn't mean I have access to any privileged information. Plus, my dad died six years ago, so unless he's committing crimes from the grave, he's pretty much irrelevant to our conversation."

"Okay, what about you and Alexander Trager, or Tig, as you all call him, and your twisted, cradle robbing relationship? No crow though. Bet Mama Gemma wasn't happy." Stahl used the end of her ballpoint pen to point towards the tattoo on Mattie's inner left wrist, SAMCRO etched in thick black lettering. "I'm curious though, how _did_ a man that was nearly twenty years your senior manage to trick you into his bed? Or were you the one pulling all the strings?"

"Not that our relationship is any of your business, but we're just old friends. Sounds like somebody didn't do their homework very well after all." Mattie viciously motioned to her folder. "Go ahead. I've done background checks. I know exactly what's written on those papers."

"Ah, yes, I nearly forgot that you made good and left Charming. Must've made Daddy real proud, huh? So, here we go, went to Berkeley, top of your class, majoring in the dueling majors of pre-law and music theory. Then you traveled across the country to go to Columbia Law School. Pretty prestigious, from what I understand. But you did enroll _pretty_ late." She smiled in an obviously fake way before continuing. "Law not your first choice? Looks like dear old dad died and you ran away with the first professor who was willing to trade sex for cohabitation. I wonder how Trager felt about your betrayal?"

"Patrick was a guest lecturer for an elective course I was taking." Mattie justified, not blinking.

"Sugar daddy, guest lecturer, sounds all the same to me. But I bet Book raised you to regard Charming with the same sort of religious zeal that all the other SAMCRO loyalists, so whatever you were planning to do after Berkeley probably involved this backwards town in some way. Except when your old man dies of undiagnosed liver cancer, the shock has to outweigh your devotion. Unless," Stahl tapped her fingertips across her yellow legal pad for effect, "There was another contributing factor. Something having to do with Tig. I do see a particularly extensive hospital visit in late March 2003. Looks like the hospital lost some of the relevant paperwork, though. Unless you were just following in Mommy's footsteps and decided to split when times got tough." Stahl folded her hands together, as though she were wordlessly asking how she did.

"Good job. Very thorough. Although, I'm kind of a what-doesn't-kill-you-makes-you-stronger sort of person. So keep going if you need to. It's very entertaining."

"I know. There's so much that we could talk about. Your self-help author and celebrity psychiatrist husband, the mother that both abandoned you. I could keep going, have a discussion about your father-the murderer- that died unexpectedly. Your Elvis-impersonating uncle. A football star baby brother. And of course, we have Tig, the dashing Prince Charming. A kind of choose your own adventure story." Stahl smiled again, showing her teeth in a way that wasn't completely friendly. "But wait, I'm forgetting somebody."

"Oh?" Mattie asked, ready to play along.

"You know, whatever you and Deputy Chief Hale had in high school must've really stuck with him. He wasn't too happy to know that I was coming over here to talk to you. Or to Tara. It's kind of funny that both of the girls he loved left Charming and then came back to their former flames. Poor guy."

Christ. It was clear that Stahl knew she wasn't going to get any pertinent information from Mattie and was throwing a hail Mary, trying to drag up anything that would make Matt uncomfortable. Fuck her.

"We were kids when we dated. It's old news, Agent Stahl."

"Not where he's concerned. He's sure that you're going to killed by staying in Charming and allying yourself with the Sons of Anarchy. Don't need him to protect you, sweetheart?"

"I can take care of myself." Mattie slowly replied. Stahl only wanted to rile her.

"Be a shame if that little boy got taken down with you, though. Moby. Be smart, Mattie. Take yourself out of the MC equation. You left once, you can do it again. You'll get hurt. The innocents standing behind the men always get hurt. Your mom, and now Donna. One of your best friends. How is it watching the Sons of Anarchy slowly destroying her marriage?"

Stahl stood, but not before sliding Mattie a business card. The blonde looked Mattie up and down, shaking her head.

"Shame that somebody as pretty as you decided to make such terrible decision. Could've been anything. Not just a club whore. Hope that Tig sees all the sacrifices you had to make to be with him. Bet he doesn't, though." Stahl smirked again.

The sound of a Harley rumbling down the street distracted both of them. Stahl laughed in a sadistic way, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Please, let it be Jax, Mattie thought, walking her least favorite ATF agent to the door. The fact that the woman knew so much of her history didn't bother Mattie, just that she had so much of it to discuss. How had it all unfolded into such an irreparable mess?

But being raised inside a criminal organization was something that Mattie came to terms with before elementary school, along with the realization that no matter how much she wanted one, her life would never be normal. Family, love, education, it would always lead straight back to the Sons of Anarchy. Which was fine. It was always the detours that destroyed her.

The bike pulled up alongside Stahl's sedan. Tigger. Mattie tried her best not to look as stunned as she felt, although there was an overwhelming and unmistakable mixture of astonishment and anxiety leaping up and down her chest.

His blue eyes caught hers, although not in the suspicious way that she was anticipating. Mattie didn't know what exactly he was thinking, just that his expression seemed far too calm for how they'd last spoken to one another. Tig flipped the bird to the agent waiting inside the car, before shaking out his helmet hair and heading towards the front stoop. Stahl met him on the porch, smiling broadly.

"Ah, trying to save the damsel in distress. Very noble of you." The blonde cooed. "Thank you so very much for your time, Mrs. Muldoon. Excuse me, Miss Cardinal. My mistake."

Tig shot Mattie a glance, an _oh don't you worry, we're going to talk about this, just not in front of this bitch_ kind of look. But he just grinned at Stahl; closing in on the woman in such a threatening manner that Matt thought the agent in the car might come running.

"Yeah. Taking care of my girl. She a good host?" He growled, their faces inches away from one another.

"Not really. Didn't even offer me a beverage." Stahl quipped, before jogging confidently down the porch steps.

"I'm sorry. Did you want me to get you a lemonade or something?" Mattie asked, as Tig slung his arm around her shoulders. It was surprisingly comforting, despite the lack of contact they'd had since that awful phone conversation.

"Naw. It's fine. Until next time, my friends." The woman entered the sedan, keeping her eyes trained on Mattie and Tig the entire time. By the time that Stahl rolled down the street, Matt finally felt like she could breathe again, even if Tig was at her side. Or maybe it was the distinction- that he _was_ standing by her side- that made all the difference.

He sighed, clutching her just a bit closer before dropping his arm back to his side. Mattie guessed that he'd had enough of the nice act for the moment. But then he pressed his lips against her forehead in such a tender manner that she thought her heart might either going to burst out of her chest or stop pumping altogether.

This was either going to be the latter portion of their back-and-forth routine, or Tig was going to be his normal asshole self and then go on his way.

Honestly, she couldn't do this again. Not when she still felt so shitty about what he said. Just as Lowell always dreamed that his father would come back and be in his life, Mattie dreamed that she would end up being Tig's Old Lady. It wasn't a fantasy that she acknowledged very often, but it constantly occupied space in her mind, nestled in a quiet, hard to find corner.

Stahl was right, Mattie was supposed to be smart, but she constantly proved how untrue that assumption was.

"Hey, baby." Tig said into her skin, his words soft.

"W-What are you doing here?" Mattie stuttered. Stahl's visit was weighing heavy on her shoulders. She prided herself on how unflappable she could be in times of crisis- in a burning building, Mattie would be the sole person thinking calmly and clearly- but goddamn, that bitch was ruthless. Stahl had to realize from the get-go that Mattie wouldn't be her best source of information. Hell, the blonde knew that she grew up in the club, knew the rules the better than most of the other girls. Mattie was even a true OL The SAMCRO tattoo on her wrist was decidedly not the same thing as a crow.

"Making sure that the bitch didn't do any damage."

"I didn't say anything, if that's what you came to find out." He was just trying to see if she ratted. Of course. Mattie's mouth got her in trouble, but only with Tig. Any knowledge about club business- aside from the fight, she knew legitimately nothing- would never leave her lips.

"Christ, I know, Matt. I trust you. I don't trust a lot of bitches, but you…" He raked a hand through his curly hair. "In some ways, I have complete faith in you."

"Thanks." She said awkwardly. Tig didn't say shit like that very often, and when he did, well, Mattie never knew how to handle it.

"I was genuinely worried about you, is that allowed? We said some words the last time we spoke, some that I'd really like to take back. Or talk about. Damn, Mattie, you were right. We really do need to fucking talk shit out or we're going to get worse and worse."

Tig was always surprising her, although most of the time she couldn't tell if that was good or bad.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So… I was so ecstatic about the results of the Super Bowl- not that anybody cares, but I love love love the Giants, and yes, I intentionally repeated love three times- and was so hyped up that I decided to post this earlier than I intended. There is a second part to this chapter, and no, I won't be mean and switch time periods between. I should have it up in a day or two. And I just want to take a second, and thank my reviewers. Ya'll are the best. Seriously. : ) Anyway, I'm done rambling, so thank you so much for reading and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

_Weep for yourself, my man,_

_You'll never be what is in your heart_

_Weep little lion man,_

_You're not as brave as you were at the start_

_Rate yourself and rake yourself,_

_Take all the courage you have left_

_Waste it on fixing all the problems_

_That you made in your own head_

_But it was not your fault but mine_

_And it was your heart on the line_

_I really fucked it up this time_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

_Little Lion Man – Mumford and Sons_

* * *

><p>Mattie was giving Tig that patent <em>what the hell are you doing and why are you doing it <em>glance, with her hazel eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. He knew that look very well, as it was one that he'd received thousands of times. It kind of made Tig proud, to know that after all the time they'd known each other that he could still do things to shock her. Except he knew exactly what was running through her head, he could see it in the timid way she folded her shoulders forward, as though Mattie could collapse in upon herself. It was a protective mechanism, and it didn't exactly warm Tig to know that it was because of him showing up unexpectedly, especially after what they'd argued about the last time they spoke. Mattie shouldn't need to shield herself from him. It was Tig's job to shelter her from danger, although that arrangement got pretty fucked up if he was the one making her react like that.

Tig always hurt her. Usually it was without thinking, when he was tired and his mouth would ramble on, easy things to take back. Occasionally, the damage was too messy for even him to handle, and he knew how to clean up the problematic shit. It was practically his career. This time, she'd made him angry, and he lashed out the only way he knew how. Whenever she accidentally touched one of Tigger's sore spots, he thrashed about, destroying everything in his path. Rubbing in the fact that she left for six years to get away from him- well, maybe Mattie didn't say it in those words, but her meaning was pretty much implied- his only thought was_ fuck you_. She didn't get to remind him how badly things broke when she was twenty-one. Might as well have been twenty-two, since he'd already had her birthday present picked out that year. Tig couldn't recall what it was- a terrible, vicious lie- but he just knew that the simple fact that he couldn't give it to her since she was on an entirely different coast caught him off guard. The concept that one day Mattie was in Charming, the next she wasn't, formed a scar that he would never be rid of. It could happen again. That was the worst part of the whole thing.

It might've been six years, but Tig never allowed himself to process any of the emotions. To him, it was easier to pretend that none of it ever happened, that he never fell in love with Mattie, that she never loved him, that she just didn't exist at all. When he was forced to confront any of those situations, he didn't know what to do. Tig was a man. He shouldn't be incapacitated by love, be incapacitated by a woman. Especially one that was so much younger than him. How that had crept up on him, without his notice, well, it was kind of a blow to the ego. Tig Trager could still be side swept by love. He killed people, physically assaulted people, was pretty much a sexual deviant and yet, somehow, he'd found those hazel eyes one night and just went _oh shit_. Not that it was love at first sight- he _was _Tig, after all- but that realization gradually snowballed into something he'd had no intention of beginning. A one night stand with a younger woman was one thing, a whole relationship with a younger woman who also happened to be the daughter of one of his brothers, well… It was messy to start with. Maybe that was what was so alluring about the whole idea. Tig had done the regular route; he'd settled down with a bitch his own age and had kids, which had gone to hell in hand basket real quick. The slow, lusty burn he and Mattie started when she was young felt amazing in comparison.

Tig hadn't meant it to be anything more than a sexual relationship. He didn't count on the emotional ties that quickly fastened them together, the wrenching need for Mattie to be near him. It was fucking embarrassing. He was supposed to be a one percenter, not a love drunk sucker. But he ended up depending on her. Mattie had this strange strength, a kind of ferocity that manifested whenever Tig had to do something particularly difficult for his family. _I know that you're going to do something that people say is immoral, illegal, but just remember that you're doing it to keep your loved ones safe. You take lives to save ours. _Mattie made him out to be more than just a killer. She talked to him like he was a savior, that despite all the inhuman acts he committed, there was still a man underneath. Tig could live with what he did because of what she said. Mattie fused two aspects of his life- the murderous psychopath and the man that loved his family- that Tig had always kept separate. She proved that without one, the other couldn't exist. And Mattie did it all without batting an eyelash. In those moments, she reminded him of Gemma. But at the same time, not at all. Gemma did things not just for the good of her husband, but also for the club. Mattie's reassurances were just for him. She made him into something more than just a tool to be used whenever the time was right. Tigger was human.

He knew that Mattie cared about him, probably just as much now as she did back then. Loved him, even. So telling her that she would never be his Old Lady, it was too much. Tig wanted to keep her close without sacrificing the pieces of himself that he considered too tender to expose just yet. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with her that took being an Old Lady off the table; the problems were all Tigger's. Despite who he was, what he did, he was deathly afraid of giving her that power over him. Sometimes Tig wished that he didn't feel anything, that he really was a monster. Then she wouldn't be able to hurt him again. Because as emasculating as it was to admit, the fact that she could indiscriminately wound without very much effort was scary as shit. The other option, the one where they never spoke to each other again, where she found another man to spend the rest of her life with, Tig couldn't. He couldn't. In some twisted, fucked up way, they belonged together. Thinking about her in another man's bed, no matter who- he couldn't. It was wrong. Mattie was his. He loved her and yet, he didn't want to. But there were only so many directions that their little relationship could play out. Together, apart, death. All three options were impossible.

That's why, at the end of day, Tig usually wished that they'd never ended up together ten years ago. He could be one of her surrogate uncles, like the other guys. Well, except Jax and Ope, the trio was pretty much a band of unlikely siblings. And Chibs. That little flirtation was too close for Tig's comfort. It was why he flipped out the other day, when he'd said all those things to Mattie. Tig didn't think she'd act on it, not while he was around, but the thought that she could roamed across the back of his mind incessantly.

But he wasn't a schoolboy either. Tig used the sweetbutts and croweaters to his advantage. He didn't think he could just stop because Mattie came back into the picture. It was kind of like insurance. If Mattie did something that pissed him off, that hurt him, all Tig needed to do was go back to the club and get a piece of ass. Clay told that Tig to quit all that childish shit and just settle down. _Either she's your Old Lady, or she ain't. There's no both, Tiggy. Just make a decision. You're gonna keep livin' your life, no matter what_. And yeah, Clay was right. But Tig was stubborn. He'd figure out a way to make things work. It might take forever, but he'd finagle the situation.

Tigger didn't want to come to Mattie's house, even when he found out that Stahl was going around to all the women. Honestly, at first, he didn't even think that Mattie would even be on her list of people to talk to. But it made sense. She was tangled in the club even if she wasn't directly involved in business. Mattie had dirt that could take down the charter, but he was telling the truth before. He didn't have to worry about her ratting because to her, destroying the club was like desecrating her father's memory. Book Cardinal was part of the Sons 'til the day he died, and he taught Mattie that even though the men and women involved with the MC weren't related to her biologically, they were still family. Mattie was devoted to the Sons of Anarchy. So no, when he saw that Stahl and her cronies were already questioning Matt, his stomach didn't sink. Tig's spine stiffened in pride. She wouldn't talk. He was beyond sure of it.

It was actually Gemma's idea to head over. Tig had been in the office, ruffling through some papers to find a particular order form for an obscure part, and Gemma was sitting behind the desk. Just watching him in amusement, feet propped up, relaxed. Thinking about it, that should've tipped him off in the first place. It was the sort of look the Queen always wore when she was trying to get the mortals to do her bidding. So when Gemma told him that all the girls were being questioned by ATF, Tig had nothing more to offer than an _I already know_ followed by an annoyed shrug. Luann and Cherry were arrested; Tara had been accosted at the hospital. The fact that he didn't consider Mattie's role in the ATF's radar made Gemma frown.

"I know that you were playing house, Tigger. Why'd you stop? Baby girl hasn't been around in weeks." She always used Jax's nickname for Mattie like it was the most natural thing in the world, even if she was nearly twenty-eight.

"I don't know. As they say, bitches be crazy." He'd retorted, resuming his search. Gemma just tutted, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned further back in her chair.

"Oh, please. What did you do to frighten her off this time?"

"I didn't do shit, Gem. She wants her space; it's fine with me. I don't need Matt attached to my hip."

"Til." Gemma said, smirking.

"Excuse me?" How the fuck did she know about that? It was something Tig only ever said to Mattie. Did she tell Gemma?

The queen motioned to the tattoo above her breast, the crow. "Above your heart, Tigger. Inked above your heart, clear the fucking blue sky. Til. It's not very hard to figure out, sweetheart."

Maybe it wasn't. Gemma didn't know anything about its second meaning; she just knew that it was his own nickname for Mattie. And as for the tattoo, well, it was something he'd done in one of his weaker moments. Happy and Bobby were heading out to get a few pieces filled, and Tig, completely drunk, decided to accompany him. So he'd woke up in the morning with a new tat and a raging hangover. Tig didn't regret it, but didn't like that his reasons for getting the ink were so transparent.

"Yeah. She's got a tiger on her shoulder blade. Should I run and get us a marriage license?"

"Do you love her?" Gemma asked suddenly, leaning forward like the conversation had just gotten very interesting.

"Why do you care, Gem? Why is it so important to you?"

"That girl is the closest I will ever get to having a daughter. I care about Mattie, Tigger. I raised her."

"I don't know. I don't." He'd completely given up on the order forms by that point, disheveled by Gemma's words.

"It's not a hard question. It's either a yes or a no. There shouldn't be any thinking that you have to do to answer it." She drawled slowly, her eyes still trained on him.

Gemma was only pressing him because she already knew the answer. She was there when everything imploded. That sort of mess didn't clean up easy. Hell, it was six fucking years later and he still wasn't right in the head.

"Gemma, come on." He sighed, running a hand through his sweat-laden curls. The room had gotten very warm.

"Yes. Or no." Her staccato tone rang out, not averting her dark eyes from his. She wasn't going to let him leave the office until he answered. "Because if you ain't gonna tell her, Tig, she's gonna find somebody else. And if it's one of your brothers, baby, you're gonna have to live with the consequences."

He didn't answer. Tig already knew all of that; it was all he could think about since seeing Mattie at Piney's party. Since figuring out that she was the girl that Chibs couldn't shut up about. The harder he tried to hold on to Mattie, the more he hated himself for being so weak. Whenever he decided to let her go, he panicked. There were no right answers, no code of conduct for those sort situation.

"Think about Mattie getting married to another man. Wearing a white dress, smiling in pictures. Think about her settling down and having babies with him, pretty little babies with curly hair and hazel eyes. If that's where life takes her, she ain't coming back to you. Think about all that and then tell me your answer."

But Mattie was already married. To some shrink asshole. And as for kids…

"They would have blue eyes. My blue eyes." He whispered. Gemma just grinned. That was enough of an answer.

After that, Tig decided the best course of action would be to check on Mattie, hoping that he made it to her before Stahl did. Of course, that wasn't how things worked out, and the bitch had the nerve to try and pull that underhanded stunt using Matt's married name, trying to drag shit up on the front porch. Like he'd really react while the blonde was still there. Tig and Mattie presented a united front, at least until Stahl left. That's when Matt's posture fell, showing just how beaten down she actually felt. But she was still leaning into his side, as though Tigger were the only support she needed. He loved that more than he'd admit aloud. So he placed that kiss on her forehead, right against her hairline, to show her.

They'd gone inside to check on Moby, who was upstairs and asleep. That seemed to reassure Mattie, who asked Tig if he'd wait while she showered. And then they'd talk. The weight of that word- _talk_- sat on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. Because it was something that they needed to do weeks ago, at Piney's party, if not soon after. But they both kept avoiding it, dancing away from the very idea. Mattie had breached the subject at Fun Town, right before that night went absolutely to shit, but that was as close as they came. To know that now, after weeks of pretending like nothing was wrong, was the moment she was going to open her mouth and tell him everything that she was feeling- and the fact that he would have to do the same- was overwhelming. Worse than what went down in the office with Gemma. And that had made him nauseous.

Which was why he was sitting on the wicker sofa on the porch, looking out at the street. It was quiet, a couple kids running down to the park, some moms out on a power walk. Tig liked Mattie's house, but maybe not as much as the one she grew up in. The difference in neighborhoods was probably what did it, how this street seemed so much more exposed than the cul-de-sac surrounded by a patch of woods. Even if she lived next door to Judge Hale.

"I thought you left." Mattie's voice brought Tig out of his reverie. She stepped barefoot onto the porch, before curling up by his side. "Moby is still napping."

Tig nodded, looking at the woman next to him. She wore a gauzy dress that reached her bare feet, the print- tiny birds, he thought with a smile- cascading down her curves, the volume of the fabric dwarfing Mattie as she sat. Her hair was still wet, the shiny ringlets hanging heavier than normal on her shoulders, water droplets melting onto pale skin. Mattie's curls were tighter than his, shrinking into what Gemma always called boloney curls, and they were a shade or two darker. Plus, Matt's locks had that red tint woven in, which glowed copper in the sunlight. And then there were those eyes. Pupils rimmed by a ring of gold, surrounded by a bright olive green. Tig always thought they looked like a sunflower in a field of grass, but of course, he never told her that. Mattie wouldn't be into that kind of poetic bullshit.

Her fresh from the shower smell was driving him crazy. All those different smells mixed together- conditioner, soap, lotion- united by the perfume that Mattie always used. And the fact that the scent was called Lust, well, it made Tig hard just thinking about it. He only knew its name because it was the only perfume perched on the counter in the bathroom, the small bottle apparent between towering containers of lotion and shower gel. The jasmine scent was floral, but sweet enough that he wanted to trail his tongue along her skin, and not just in the areas where Mattie applied it. Grinning mischievously, Tig trailed his eyes up and down the woman who shyly tucked her knees into her chest. She just smirked back.

"Thanks for waiting. I was pretty gross." That was probably Matt's way of referring to the loose sweats and tank she'd been wearing when he arrived. Braless, Tig mused, trying his best not to let his thoughts invade his features.

"Naw. I thought that look was sexy. Bet that ATF bitch was all sorts of jealous."

"I'm sure she's probably on the phone with her superior, asking for casual Fridays so she can get out of that suit and into some nasty sweatpants. Taking down bad guys and wearing drawstring pants, that's the dream." Mattie retorted, laughing a little before somberly adding, "But ya'll aren't the bad guys."

Tig nodded. "Bitch'll be out of our hair eventually. Sorry that you had to deal with her."

"It's okay. She was just spouting stuff out, trying to throw her weight around. I was like, asshole, I lived it, I know exactly what you're going to say. Just annoying, that's all."

"What did she ask you?" It was an innocent enough question, he figured.

"Honestly, pretty much nothing. It was mostly Stahl telling _me_ things. Trying to get me to buckle under the weight of my own life. Dumb tactic." Mattie shrugged, and then mockingly added, "Do you know about any illegal activities the Sons of Anarchy are conducting? No, well, let me drag a whole bunch of shit up."

"Sounds like Stahl. She went around to all the girls. Luann and Cherry are in lock up. Donna and Tara were just unsettled by it."

"Shit. Sack's Cherry? Christ. And Luann? What could Stahl have on Luann? Her business is legit." Mattie leaned forward, closer to him. One hand crept to hold onto his cut, the compulsive action making Tig forget that he was supposed to be keeping his distance.

"Found her stash of not so legal drugs at the porn studio. And Cherry? Well, little girl's wanted for attempted murder in Nevada. ATF is trying to leverage Luann against Otto, get him to give up something on club so they can use RICO on us. Cherry is facing serious prison time." She was close enough to the thick of it that Tig didn't think twice about filling her in.

"Holy shit. Stupid bitch."

"Cherry?" Tig asked incredulously.

"No, Stahl. She's trying to shake the tree to see what falls out."

"Pretty much. Think you can handle it if she comes around again?" He ran a hand down her left arm, letting his fingers linger.

Mattie shot him an irritated look. "Yeah. I can. I don't have much more dirt that she can drag up."

"Like you and your shrink husband?" It was time to talk the talk.

Mattie sighed. "We weren't really married. It was just on paper, no ceremony, no dress. I didn't even change my last name."

"But you still _married_ him. Must've been some feelings involved. And I saw it, the engagement ring. You were wearing it when I was in New York. Big fuckin' rock." His tone was more accusing than he meant it to be. Mattie pulled back just a little, dropping the leather that was clenched inside her palm.

"I did love him, once. Maybe at first. He's the complete opposite of you, Tig. Patrick is straight-laced, doesn't smoke or drink, has a completely legitimate career. He's actually sort of famous. Wrote a couple of weepy self-help books, sometimes makes a couple rounds on the afternoon talk shows. But that didn't matter. I thought being with somebody that wasn't you, that wouldn't ever remind me of you, would force me to stop being in love with you." Mattie shook her head and laughed in a self-deprecating way. "It didn't fucking work."

"What was wrong with him?"

"You want the honest answer?" She asked, tilting her head. "He wasn't you. That's why. Because I never got over all those feelings I had for you, that I've had since I was seventeen years old. I thought that I had it all figured out, I numbed the memories to point where I could survive, but then you had to show up that one morning. You know, I thought I was going crazy. Like I was seeing things. And I didn't even care. I was just so irrationally happy to see you. And after that, I tried so hard to re-compartmentalize. Even read one of Patrick's shitty books. But it didn't work. And I felt like shit, pathetic and hopeless. Especially when I knew that you were still in Charming, not even remotely affected by all the emotions that were ruining me."

"That's not true. Things weren't perfect without you. You left me, didn't even give me a chance to process it before you were gone. And the stunt with the sweatshirt, that red fucking sweatshirt." Tig met her eyes. "It destroyed me. I was so fucking angry and so goddamn miserable at the same time. All I did for six years was drink and fuck. Over and over and over, like the monotony would drown out everything else. It almost did. Then you had the nerve to come back. I said those things to you in New York because if you stayed, it felt like I was proving myself right. That all the terrible things I convinced myself you were could actually turn out to be true. But then you were across the room at Piney's party and…"

Tig smacked his hands together; to illustrate all the words he couldn't say. He didn't mean to go on for so long, for all those things to leave his lips, but once he started, there was no stopping. It needed to be said. Mattie needed to know. Keeping it in, for as long as he did, twisted all those emotions into something wretched. They needed to be freed, as uncomfortable as it made Tig to say them aloud. But Mattie was one of the most understanding people he knew. If you deserved a chance, she gave it to you. And yeah. Tig deserved much more than that.

Mattie linked their fingers together, her small soft hands clutching his larger callused ones. "I was scared, Tigger. I lost my dad, and I'd lost you long before that, and I didn't know what to do. For some reason, I thought it would be easier to run away than to confront what was left of my life in Charming."

Tig never thought about it that way. He had abandoned her first. In the middle of her senior year of college, a couple months before Book passed. There was no denying that one. It was one of those times where he did something without thinking, a horrible thing that Tig couldn't apologize for, all these years later. But he was sorry. Judging by the way Mattie let her head tip over and rest on his shoulder, maybe she already knew.

"Mattie?"

"Yeah, Tigger?" She replied softly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, baby. I know." Mattie pressed a gentle kiss into his cheek. "I'm sorry too."

"Mattie?" He asked again.

"Yeah, Tigger?" Her response was a little more amused than before.

"I…" Now. Now was the time to say those three fucking words. Just get it over with. "I… am so goddamn bad at this emotional shit."

He couldn't. Shit. That irrational fear lingered, hard in his chest, catching all the phrases that he should've said, that he wanted to say.

"That's okay. That's why I love you." She chimed.

Mattie got up suddenly, swinging a leg over lap, so that she was straddling him. A knee on either side of his legs, her hands resting on his cheekbones. Mattie brought her lips close, millimeters away from his. Their eyes met, and Tigger smiled. If they were inside, his thoughts might be descending towards something sexual, something else they could be doing in that sort of position, but there was nothing lurid about how Mattie draped herself around him. It kind of felt… protective, possessive maybe.

And she kissed him again, her lips meeting his briefly before parting, allowing his tongue entrance to her mouth. This was how things were supposed to be. One of her hands snaking its way into his hair, his holding tightly onto her hips. Mattie wasn't getting away; he wasn't going to let her escape back to New York City or anywhere else. Not this time.

Because even if he never knew what to say, she always did. And that was enough, for now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay! Big conversation over with! I hope it turned out alright, and I hope it's not too frustrating that Tig didn't declare his feelings. I have a pretty specific point in mind for that to potentially happen. And the next (couple?) chapters I'm pretty sure will be flashbacks. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

_Back when I had no story, nothing to form me_

_You got under my skin_

_You were my maker, re-creator_

_My reason to live_

_Can't stop the bleeding or this leaving_

_Though I've tried_

_And when I return, with those fresh bunch of burns_

_You're waiting inside_

_Romance – Wild Flag_

* * *

><p>Tigger hated lockdowns. Hated headcounts and grocery lists, all the fucking kids running around. No place to goddamn sleep comfortably, not with all the noise. Christ, with the extra charters, the clubhouse was starting to feel like a can of sardines, not to mention smell like one. So many people and not enough showers. Why had Tig voted for this mini-war against the Nords? Better off letting the little Nazis crawl back into their crank holes until the end of winter.<p>

Yeah, he wanted to keep the MC families safe, but fuck, couldn't he get a little privacy?

One of Bobby's kids tore by him as though responding to his inner thoughts, chasing another rug rat that Tig didn't recognize. Once upon a time, it'd just been the SAMCRO babies, and while not exactly quiet, at least they could be wrangled by a single look from Gemma. But now, two of those babies were in the club, and the other, well… Tig didn't know what to do about the other one. Not when Kozik was making her laugh like that. It was too damned distracting.

So Koz was allowed to all up close and personal with Mattie, and Tig wasn't? Because Koz was younger and blonde? Because Koz didn't have quite the same sick sexual reputation that Tig did? Kozik sure as shit didn't pick her up from Pope that night. He didn't narrowly save Matt from dying in a car accident.

Koz also didn't get wasted and call her the night of his birthday. Okay, so maybe that hadn't been Tig's finest moment, but shit, wasn't like Book noticed or nothing. Tig didn't remember exactly what he said, just knew that whatever it was made Mattie skittish. Normally, the girl was all up for one of their little innuendo matches, all ready to play-argue until she got angry, but recently, there had been a literal ten-foot distance between them. And Tig didn't like it. He wasn't a hero, far from it, but he deserved a little fucking gratitude. Not the thinly veiled disinterest Mattie reserved for people outside the club. They shared a moment in his bathroom- as strange as that statement sounded out of context. Mattie broke down; let him see all the soft edges she normally kept hidden. Around the MC, she wasn't exactly quiet, but she had that same self-composed nature as her father. Seemingly easy-going, but ask the wrong questions and -wham!- she closed herself off.

Or say the wrong thing over the phone and –wham…- have no idea how to fix it. All Tig could do was stare like an idiot while Matt talked to Koz, her hazel eyes all crinkled in delight. Christ. She was just a kid. Why did she screw with Tig's head like that?

But he saw her dress that night. Mattie wasn't a child anymore. She was a goddamn bombshell, not that he could see it underneath her trademark red sweatshirt. Well, at least that meant that Kozik didn't know about those effortless curves. And even if Tig was the one with the reputation, the blonde was also a dog. One that wasn't getting to Mattie. Judging by the hard set to Jax's jaw as he watched the too-friendly pair on the couch, the kid was thinking the same thing. It was nice for that wrath to directed towards somebody else for a change. Shit with the Prince got real old after a while.

Tig was scrutinizing Mattie's form for a hint of those tits when Opie saddled onto the stool next to him, the gentle giant quickly interpreting who exactly Tig's gaze was directed towards. At least he didn't know why.

"Guess she has a thing for Sergeant-at-Arms." The burly kid said with a grin, taking a swig of his Miller. The Sons of Anarchy didn't exactly care about legal drinking ages. You can shoot a gun, you can drink a beer, twenty-one or not.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tig always tried to be gruff with Opie, like he was with Jax, but the mellowest of the SAMCRO babies never really seemed to care. Not that any of them were really babies anymore. Ope and Jax were both patched in, Mattie was… completely ingrained in his mind for the absolute wrong reasons. Jesus fucking Christ, one track mind much?

"Mattie, well, let's just say that we all knew she wasn't going to end up head-over-heels for just any guy. David Hale was just a phase, first boyfriend shit, but whatever you did to make her defend you to Jax, well, must've been pretty significant. Never seen them get in such a fight before."

There were too many key phrases in Opie's little speech. _Head-over-heels_? _Defend you to Jax_? _Pretty significant_? Shit. Was the kid trying to say that Mattie had a crush on Tigger_?_ That sweet little girl- not a girl, women have those sort of curves- had feelings for a killer? Yeah, that's believable. Mattie, who had the ability to do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted, decided that Tig was the man of her dreams. Ha!

Was it wrong if Tigger was just the littlest bit intrigued?

But it was all so ridiculous. Matt was young. Not co-ed young, high school young. Illegal young. Christ, Tigger watched her grow up. If that wasn't creepy, fuck, he didn't know what was. _When did you meet your Old Lady? Oh, when she was about four or so._ That sounded real good. Age didn't really matter to the club, and Tig had fucked seventeen-year-olds before, but it certainly made a difference when the girl in question was a daughter of one of his brothers. Forbidden flesh and all that bullshit. Sexy as all hell forbidden flesh.

Goddamn it. Tig couldn't think like that. Mattie was off limits, and she'd be done with Charming by the time August rolled around. Sure, it was barely March, and the two weeks of hardly speaking to her were making him anxious, but Tig couldn't act on anything. Part of him wanted to throw Mattie against the floor and fuck her into oblivion, the other wanted to hide her until she turned eighteen and things got a little less weird- and involved fewer statutory rape charges. Why did she do all these strange things to his mind? Just because she was pretty? Because there were plenty of bitches around the club whose tits were just as big, asses that were rounder, that were all willing to open their legs and mouths for Tig. It wasn't about pussy. Something much more momentous was involved; something that Tig had no idea how to wrap his head around. Bitches didn't make Tigger go crazy. Wasn't how things worked.

Tig didn't believe in relationships that lasted longer than a single fuck. Couple hours were the maximum time limit. And seriously, whatever drawn-out, confusing shit going down with Mattie was way, way past its expiration date. He'd tried all the usual solutions, lots of sex, some shrooms, getting flat-out drunk… nothing worked. Tig woke up the next day with Matt roaming around in the back of his skull, unable to shake her. Ever since that moment in October, Tig had been fucked. Figuratively. Literally, well then, things would be different. No. Again, he was past the point of believing that was true. They were too tangled to be free of one another so easily.

_I almost lost you_. Tig still didn't know why he said it like that. Didn't think about the phrasing before he said the words; just let them fall from his lips as he pulled Mattie close. He'd never thought about the kid in such personal terms before. With such possessiveness. Because really, there were so many other people that she belonged to before Tig. Book, Bobby, Gemma, Jax, the list was long, and Tig was probably at the very end. Because she was a seven-fucking-teen year old who could not possibly have feelings for a man more than twice her age.

They were nothing alike. Mattie was sweet, caring, fierce when she needed to be. A pleasing combination of soft and hard. The kind of girl that he could lean on without worrying that she'd break. Tig didn't know why that idea came to mind, only that it was probably true. Mattie didn't grow up around all the blood and guts to become a delicate little flower. Christ, she was Book's kid. He taught her how to fight, how to shoot. If she was a boy, well, Tig had no doubts that she would be well on her way to prospecting for the club. If Matilda was a Matthew, Tig would have another brother. Instead, he just had a problem.

Not really a problem, per se. Not really a distraction either. Tig had a way of closing off his mind when he was on club business so that nothing would get in the way. Not even rogue teenage girls. Plus, in a weird way, it gave Tigger a little something extra to fight for, even if Mattie didn't know it. A couple days ago, before war was declared on the Nords, Tig, Clay and Book were just outside Charming, stopped for a quick bite after a run, a couple of the Nazi pricks decided to ambush them. Pissed about a Son taking out a dealer that'd wandered into town- it was a duo effort from Jax and Ope- so they opened fire. Tig wasn't just protecting his President; he was protecting himself, and making sure that Mattie would still have a father at the end of the day. Making sure that none of the swastika-branded assholes would come after her.

Tig couldn't stand the thought of Mattie getting hurt. Seeing that article in the paper- and Tig _never_ read the paper, just decided to grab one on a whim when he'd realized that all the coffee at his apartment was about two months stale- was jarring in a way that Tig didn't anticipate. It was one thing to lose something that you didn't even know you had, it was another to nearly lose it and realize how important it was all along. Jesus, that was some Oprah bullshit.

And Mattie defending Tig to Jax? That was odd. It was no secret that Tig and Jackson didn't see eye-to-eye whatsoever, they were always butting heads. The Prince positively hated the idea of Tigger anywhere near Mattie, and Tigger hated the idea of Jax and Mattie ending up together, so at least the feeling was mutual. And Tig knew that it would never happen, that Mattie and Jax were too much like siblings to get married and start having little Teller babies, but damn… if it didn't make Tigger the littlest bit jealous.

It was true what people said about wanting the thing you couldn't have. It does make you want it worse than before.

Not that Tig wanted to get Mattie knocked up, shit, no, that wasn't his intention. He didn't even know what he wanted. Mattie, yeah, but how, but why? Those details were lost to him. They didn't work, there was no universe in which a nearly forty year old man with sexual proclivities that should land him in jail would end up with a seventeen year old whose pussy was more closely guarded than the crown jewels of most foreign countries. Mattie was innocent. Tig didn't deserve to ruin that. Let the world take its toll on her like everybody else.

Damn, though, seeing her with Koz was just making him mad. Wrong Sergeant-at-Arms. And Tigger had all but forgotten about Opie by his side. Kid knew when to be quiet, how to say the right things. The club was lucky to get a member like him.

"You think they're just talking, or is that flirting?" Tig asked, trying not to let any of his personal feelings effect his tone.

"Eh. I think they're just catching up. Been a while since Tacoma was down here, right? Plus, I hear that Kozik's having problems with his VP. Talking about going Nomad or patching into another charter." Opie replied, the beer in his hands pretty much finished. Tig wondered for a moment where Donna had gotten off to. Surely Ope would've brought his girlfriend to the lockdown. Maybe she could pry Mattie away from Koz.

"Blondie's just throwing a hissy fit." One that he could have away from Mattie.

"Don't know, man. Supposedly pretty serious. But whatever's going on over there, on that couch, isn't. Trust me. We've been friends for so long that I can tell when she's bluffing. And that, Tig, is a bluff." Opie slid off his stool, and set his empty on the bar. "I'm gonna check on Donna. See ya in church at noon."

That left an hour before they decided to do with the Nords. Tig wanted to take Darby's racist ass out, but Otto thought that would lead right back to the Sons. If that happened, even Unser wouldn't be able to stop the investigation from leading straight towards the front gates of Teller-Morrow. But the assholes tried to off Clay in broad fucking daylight. Did they really think they'd get away with that? An attempt on the President's life was a death warrant, one that Tig wanted to carry out himself. But now, they had to be all diplomatic and shit, think things through. Crank was starting to trickle into Charming, and the club needed to buckle down on that first.

Plus, it wasn't like Tig wanted to kill Darby because he was kind of Mattie's stepfather. Ex-stepfather, at least. If those two even got married on any official basis. Reese ran around with him after she left Book, which made little to no sense to Tigger. You say you're leaving the Sons because you don't want your kid to grow up in violence, so you bring him to white hate instead… Right. Because that's a solid line of logic right there.

Tig did want to kill Darby because he'd decided to fuck with the wrong people. Day before yesterday, a perfectly innocent manila envelope was mixed in with the mail, without a stamp or return address. Just _A Note to the Sons_ scrawled on the front. That should've been a warning for what lay within. Thinking about it made Tig's mouth dry, made his chest clench in fury. A photo of Gemma, putting groceries into her trunk outside of the market. Luann kissing Otto on the cheek as he picked her up from work one day. Donna sitting inside a classroom at San Joaquin CC. Precious getting her nails done. And finally, Mattie after school, backpack over one shoulder, about to unlock her stupid piece-of-shit Civic. Underneath it read: _Little Cardinal got real, real pretty. Should keep an eye on her_. The writing was only on hers, a direct warning.

Darby was as good as dead. Nobody threatened Tig's girl and got away with it.

When did it become so natural to call her that?

White power knew to hit SAMCRO where it hurt, their woman. Tig was honestly surprised that Darby hadn't targeted any of the children. Maybe he hadn't gotten a good enough shot. Although, technically, Mattie was one of the club kids, not an Old Lady. But that asshole still deserved to die. They'd take care of all the Nord-run crank dens, perhaps do a hit on a couple of their favorite bars, but King Nazi would be safe. Lucky son of a bitch.

Thoroughly ruffled, Tig decided to pay a visit to Mattie and Kozik. Missy was curled up between them, her head in Matt's lap. At least the pup was providing a little bit of a buffer. All the action was overwhelming Missy just a little bit, her hiding spots taken by either strange humans or extra supplies. The German shepherd usually had full run of the clubhouse, but on days like today, she was just huddled against one of the more familiar bodies. Tig liked the way that both of his girls picked their heads up as he approached.

"Hey, man, how's it going?" Koz asked with a broad smile. Tig always thought that he was just a tad too pretty to be in the MC.

"Shitty, but I guess that's better than the alternatives." He replied, bending down to run a hand over Missy's head. Mattie leaned back into the couch as he did, shrinking away from him. Tig hated that.

"Yeah. I feel ya." Koz said with a shrug. "Things have really changed around here, though. Everybody's older. 'Specially you, Tigger. Thinking about SAMCRO retirement yet?"

Tig tried not to let the little asshole get under his skin. "Still look better than you, pretty boy."

"Maybe, maybe. Don't know how you concentrate with this beautiful little thing runnin' around. Christ, if Mattie was at Tacoma, well, I'd have an Old Lady already." Kozik was really pressing his luck. One more out of line statement and Tig would kill him.

"Why don't you check on your VP, see if he needs anything?" Two could play Koz's game. "Figure out where all you Tacoma boys are bunking up for the next couple days."

Koz just grinned. "Sure. I'll see you two later."

The blonde wandered off, and whether he was just oblivious or purposely infuriating, Tig didn't know. Didn't really care either. All that mattered was that for the first time in two weeks, it was just he and Mattie, with nowhere for her to run off to. There were too many people in the clubhouse for that. So, she just looked at him with those hazel eyes- he'd never bothered to really notice the fucking color of a woman's eyes before- and a tiny little purse in her lips, as though she wasn't happy with the idea of being cornered by him.

"So." Mattie said, with the tiniest bit of a challenge in her voice. He liked that feisty sound. Really didn't make it easier to be around her though.

"Yeah?"

"Still wanna fuck me?" Her gaze narrowed and her expression grew dark, and Tig had absolutely no idea… the phone call. That motherfucking phone call. Goddamn it.

"Mattie, I-"

"You can't say things like that, you can't tease me like that. It isn't fair. I get it, it's funny to see me all flustered and shit, but seriously, Tigger? The chocolates, the call on your birthday, it's too much. I don't want to play this stupid game anymore. You win. You fucking win." Mattie stood, about to storm off. But Tig grabbed her arm, fingers wrapping around her soft flesh. Skin on skin. His brain exploded in a flurry of fantasies, all those little ideas he'd squelched because they involved a seventeen-year-old girl. All because Tig was touching the untouchable.

"So, what, moving on to Kozik? Big, bad Tig scare you away?"

"No! Christ, you're worse than Jackson. I can speak to a member of the opposite sex without opening my legs and inviting them in. Believe it or not, not every dick is temptation." Tig had never heard her so blunt before. It was kind of sexy.

"Listen, I was shitfaced when I called you that night. I don't even remember what I said. And you can't be with Koz. Two pretty people together? That's just fucking depressing for the rest of us assholes."

"Was that a Tigger apology?" Mattie smirked and crinkled her nose in amusement. "Because I've heard they're pretty rare, so I just want to make sure."

"Shut up." He couldn't help the little chuckle slinking between his words. "Go see if Gemma needs you in the kitchen."

"I was just taking a little break. Do you know how exhausting it is to make enough lunch for all you boys? While trying to keep Tiki under control?" She sighed as the cackle of a little boy echoed through the clubhouse. "Precious cannot take fifteen minutes out of her day to watch her own kid."

"That bitch is crazy. Your uncle made a strange fucking decision gettin' married to her."

"You're telling me." She grinned. "Be careful out there. Better come back in one piece, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." He replied, and then frowned. "And you listen to me. Don't leave the clubhouse, understand? Stay here. No sneaking off for privacy, no tricking the guards at the gate to let you run home for five minutes. You gotta promise me, baby."

Gemma, Luann and Precious knew about the photos. Mattie and Donna, well, that was a different story. Clay thought they were too young to know how serious of a threat it was. Opie didn't want to frighten Donna away from the club, and if Donna found out, so would Mattie. And Mattie's picture had the most direct warning.

She had a solid head on her shoulders, but Christ, seeing those words sent a chill down Tig's back. How would a seventeen-year-old kid react?

Sometimes, Tig had to remind himself that Mattie wasn't his personal responsibility. That fell to Book. Who, for once, actually agreed with Tig on something, that it was smarter to tell the girls that their safety was being endangered so they'd know what to watch for. But Clay made the final call. That was that. Mattie was in the dark. And it scared the shit out of Tigger. Bad things could happen while this little battle was going on. He wouldn't be around to protect her.

Mattie raised an eyebrow. "So this is actually serious? This is another war? Just like with the Mayans?"

They'd lost a lot of good guys to that shit. Her dad was nearly one of them. He and Otto got cornered by a couple of wetbacks and managed to shoot their way out, but not before taking a couple bullets themselves. Tig still remembered Mattie at the hospital, completely silent, tucked into Bobby's side, tiny and thoroughly miserable. It was a month after JT died and the mood of the club still hadn't gotten past that particular depression. What a hideous year. Maybe the decision to spare Darby and knock out his drug empire instead was the better option than just going balls out.

"Don't worry about that. You just gotta keep your ass here, at the clubhouse. This isn't a debate, sweetheart. Understand?"

"I got it, Tigger." For a brief, sweet moment, Mattie leaned forward, her face far too close to his. "You promise me not to act like a cowboy, okay? Kick ass and take names, but with some caution."

"I'll see what I can do, but no promises." He smirked, "Now, go find Gemma before she decides to chop you up into little pieces and serve you for lunch."

Tig was secretly pleased- okay; maybe not so secretly- that Mattie was concerned about his safety. It had been a long time since somebody was back at the clubhouse waiting for him during a lockdown. He hadn't bothered contacting Colleen, since she was too goddamned far away to be a target anyway.

Now, to take care of Darby, to get Tigger's pretty little Mattie out of his line of fire.

* * *

><p>Mattie was standing over the grill, spatula in hand, feeling more like her uncle than herself. A bead of sweat rolled into the corner of her eye, competing with the smoke wafting through the air for the cause of her tears. She liked to cook, hell, she was even sort of good at it, but Christ, making this sort of volume of food was completely overwhelming. This lockdown couldn't be over soon enough.<p>

It came straight out of left field, too. Mattie had thought that the Mayans were the Sons' most threatening enemy, and that the Nords were sort of a cockroach that crawled out every so often. Usually with careful and deliberate stomping, Darby and his goons would go back to whatever slimy crevice they came from. It never required a war before. Whatever happened had the MC unsettled enough to retaliate. All Mattie knew was that some idiot had tried and failed to take out Clay- but that'd occurred so many times before and never resulted in a lockdown.

So instead of being in fourth period math- even though it was her absolute least favorite subject- Mattie was stuck flipping burgers and keeping Tiki on a short leash. Her youngest cousin was adorable, yeah, but his mother didn't particularly care what he did so long as she didn't have to worry about him. When he had an asthma attack because of all his running around, Precious might start to care. Right now, Tiki was watching Mattie grill, his little face scrutinizing the lumps of ground beef as they sizzled.

He kind of looked like a tiny version of his father, minus the graying curls and with a smaller amount of pudge around his belly.

"It's done!" Tiki exclaimed, pointing to one of the burgers. For now at least, he was occupied, but in five minutes his attention might wane. Then Mattie would have to think of a new game to play with him while she tried to get things done.

The worst part of a lockdown was not getting paid for babysitting.

"Cheese me, please!" Mattie replied, holding out a hand. So far, she and Gemma were doing the hard work, while Tiki got to hand them ingredients and bring the trays of food into the clubhouse. Well, with help, because the last thing that Mattie wanted was all of their sweat-inducing labor to end up on the ground.

Gemma shot her a look across the grill, almost smirking. Mattie had a way with kids, probably from all the time she spent watching them at the club, and lately, the Queen never missed an opportunity to point that out. Sometimes Mattie thought that Gemma would rather her settle down and start having babies instead of heading off to college. It wasn't like Mattie didn't eventually want a family of her own, but she was still a teenager. A well adjusted, mature teenager, but a child nonetheless.

She had the 'no children until you're married' talk with Book plenty of times. Her father wanted Mattie to get an education, although they had not reached a compromise on the school location issue. Mattie still wanted to go to NYU, Book was still adamant about his must-have-a-charter-no-more-than-an-hour-away rule. And the whole Mattie not seeking out the Irish mob thing. She wasn't that stupid, it was more getting to know the city that half her biological family came from, figuring out an identity beyond the one she had in Charming. Her father didn't understand that.

"You look good carrying a kid on your hip. Natural." Yeah, Gemma was definitely going after the whole hey-have-babies-with-my-son thing again.

The son that Mattie was currently not speaking to. They'd gotten into another argument about Tig, because that was the only topic that Jax ever wanted to speak about. _Why do you purposely spend time with him? Do you have feelings for him? Do you actually know anything about him?_ The questions were usually an all-out assault, like Jax would rather overwhelm her than listen to anything she had to say for herself. Honestly, Mattie didn't know why Jax was so worked up about it. Wasn't like she and Tigger were an item, they were just two people- of very different ages- who enjoyed spending time together. Yeah, a lot of it was vaguely sexual, filled with innuendos and lurid glances, but Mattie had fun with Tig.

Or at least up until two weeks ago, when things went straight from playful to flat out weird. Tig had nearly apologized for what he said, and Mattie knew that was as close she'd ever get to an 'I'm sorry.' But it didn't make whatever their relationship was any easier. Mattie still had all these unresolved, inappropriate feelings for Tig that she knew were going to get worse before they got better.

He was jealous of Kozik. All Mattie was doing was talking to the blonde, catching up, and there was Tig looming in a corner, glaring at them. His bright blue eyes narrowed, watching the way that Koz leaned in when he was excited about something, how Mattie always grabbed Koz's shoulder when trying to prove a point. It was all innocent. Kozik was good looking but lived hundreds of miles away. Although, if Tigger was envious, it meant that maybe, just maybe, Mattie wasn't the only one with a crush. Or he still just wanted to fuck her a call it a day. She never knew how to tell the difference.

And Gemma's kid on the hip comment combined with all of Mattie's uncertainty involving Tig was making her head positively topsy-turvy. It wasn't even like she was toting Tiki around in her arms. Hell, Mattie hadn't picked up a kid all goddamn day.

"I thought that as a responsible adult, you're supposed to be against teenage pregnancy." Mattie finally replied, trying not seem as irritated as she actually was.

"Sweetheart, I don't think you were ever a teenager. You went straight from child to adult." Gemma left out the words 'after your mother split,' but Mattie knew they were implied.

"Well then, shouldn't you be supporting my education?"

"Your Old Lady education." Gemma retorted. "How was your Valentine's date with Jax anyway?"

"It wasn't a date. We watched a couple movies and then passed out."

"Was it just the two of you?"

"Yes."

"Was there food and drink involved?" Her expression said that she knew about that thieved bottle of wine that Jax brought over.

"Yeah."

"Baby, that was definitely a date. Just because Jackson didn't warn you beforehand doesn't make a difference."

"Gemma, Jax and I are not a couple, nor are we going to become one any time soon. We're practically brother and sister, so anything else would be weird."

"Not as weird as you and Tigger. Not as complicated as you and Tigger." Her tone became pointed, dipping into lecture territory. "Because as terrible you think the idea of hooking up with Jackson is, let me tell you, Tig would be worse. Don't get me wrong, I love Tigger, and he's done a lot for our family, but he's not the sort of man I want you to settle down with."

Sometimes, Mattie thought about bashing her head against the wall. Or in this case, searing her hand on the grill. Seriously? Was there some magical relationship that Mattie wasn't seeing between her and Tig? All they ever did was tease and argue, Mattie trying her best to aimlessly flirt without revealing her hand. She liked Tig. He saved her life, for Christ's sake. Was she just supposed to forget about that? It was hard enough giving him the cold shoulder for two weeks, and he didn't even fucking know what that was about, so now she felt doubly stupid.

Anyhow, no matter what happened, what changed, Mattie was still an idiotic teenager and Tigger was a Sergeant-at-Arms twice her age. There was no compatibility. So why was everybody making such a big fucking deal about the two of them?

"I know, Gem. You don't have to worry about me. I'm not the problem child, remember?" Mattie offered with a grin. Jax was always in the most trouble when they were kids, but she and Opie were known to join in on the mischief every now and again. Thomas was always the one watching, keeping an eye on things without tattling. He was a great kid. Would've been an asset to the club, but the family flaw got to him first.

"I don't worry about you, I worry about Tigger using that fucked up charm of his to get into your head. Dating that Hale kid is not the same as winding up as one of Tig's conquests. He'll use you up and throw you away. And I don't want to watch that happen, baby girl."

"Is this because of what happened to Jax?" Mattie asked, avoiding the glare that Gemma sent her way by scooping a couple finished burgers off the grill. Tara tore Jackson apart, leaving everybody else to put the pieces back together. He still got into his periods of doom and gloom every so often, even all these months later.

"You're fucking right it is. Because guess what, kiddo, Tig will break you heart. He's not going to try and pull you away from your family, force you to make hard choices, but you will never be the only girl in his life. Remember what happened between him and Colleen? He fucked whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he was married to that bitch. A ring, a crow, it's not gonna change shit, Matt. You need a man that's going to be good to you, that will treat you like a SAMCRO princess. And baby, it don't get much more royal than Jax Teller."

If all the raw meat she'd been dealing with for the past forty-five minutes didn't already nauseate Mattie, then Gemma's shameless endorsement of her son surely would've done the trick. Shit, Matt understood that she and Jax would make a good pair. If there was attraction there. Which, unfortunately for Gem, there was absolutely no romantic spark between them. Mattie loved Jackson, and he always did his best to keep an eye on her, but that didn't mean that they were ready to get married and start having kids. Because that would involve so many intimate activities that Mattie was absolutely not interested in exploring with Jax. Plus, the only reason Gemma wanted Jax and Matt together was because she thought that the relationship might magically fix him, make him forget about Tara. There was no salve to soothe Jax's heartache. It certainly wasn't Mattie, anyway.

But maybe there _was_ something wrong with her if she'd rather fuck Tigger than Jax.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The next post will probably be a little longer, since I couldn't figure out a clean way to chop it up without making it lopsided and confusing. I think that's everything for now… So, thanks for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	21. Chapter 21

_But don't you come here and say I didn't warn you_

_About the way your world can alter_

_And oh how you try to command it all still_

_Every single time it all shifts one way or the other_

_The Lion's Roar – First Aid Kit_

* * *

><p>"Shit, man! You think that I went after you, Clay? You fucking retarded or something?" Darby dribbled out of his half-broken mouth, blood trickling down his chin. "I ain't crazy enough to think that kinda action don't end with me in a shallow grave."<p>

Motherfucker. Tig held Darby's throat tighter, irritated as shit that he wouldn't admit his ambitious mistake. Clay had been taking the lead in the interrogation, but Tig was positively itching to get a little alone time with the Nazi prick who decided to threaten their innocent women. Crack a couple bones; maybe use his own blowtorch against him- they'd found Darby at his shop, acting like it was just another Thursday- anything to get the asshole to admit what he'd done.

"So maybe you weren't aware of your crew's extracurriculars, but hell, we got a bigger problem than your Nord friends trying to murder me, Darby. Sending me all those pictures of our girls," Clay clicked his tongue and shook his head, before grinning broadly to finish his speech, "That was a bad choice. I don't go after any of your diseased little whores, now do I?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? I told you, I ain't got a beef with SAMCRO. I keep my crank outta Charming, you leave me the hell alone. I know how it works, Clay. I'm not about to get my ass taken out because I feel like makin' a little extra money." Yeah. The only color Darby liked besides white was green. Maybe more. Had his eyes on moving business into Charming for the past decade, probably figured he'd start shit while things were quiet. But the Sons had a lot more firepower than the Nords, and a shitload of backup. The Aryans only had their small collection of slack jawed yokels.

Clay reached into his back pocket, pulling out the folded photos that'd been sent earlier in the week. "My wife," he held up Gemma's image, "My VP's wife," Luann, "My Secretary's wife," then Precious. "My newest patch's girl," Donna's picture was flipped over. Clay then looked over to Book. It was his turn.

Book bent over to better get in Darby's eye line, letting some of his long red hair fall over his face, deceptively smiling underneath the mop. "And I think we both know this last girl, Mr. Darby. My daughter, Matilda. Actually," He stood taller, showing off the muscled frame built from all those boxing matches, "I guess she's kind of your kid too, huh? Since you married my bitch of an ex-wife. How did that turn out anyway?"

Book Cardinal had it down to a science, talking to enemies. The careful way he cracked his knuckles, the lulling tone to his voice, the innocuous, almost boyish nature of his face. Tig's torture methods were faster, more balls to the wall, involved lots of blood and guts, and while Tig preferred his way, Book was fucking mesmerizing. He didn't let his emotions get in the way. If it's been Tig, well, Darby would've lost a couple fingers already instead of the few teeth that were knocked out when SAMCRO walked in. Tigger was intimidating, but Book, fuck, when he got into his calm little niche, he was terrifying. Usually, the man did his thing privately, but the times when Tig got to see him in action… Goddamn chilling, that's what it was. Rinse your brain in bleach kind of creepy.

"It wasn't me! Christ, if Reese knew that I was near her kid, she'd chop my fucking dick off. Cunt has a restraining order on me. And the other pictures, I swear, Clay. I don't got a reason to go starting that sort of trouble. My business is meth, not stalking your Old Ladies."

"Yeah, and who else would be practicing their photography skills in Charming, Darby? And know Book's girl well enough to scribble that message? Oh yeah, _and_ be tryin' to off me at the same time. We ain't got many other suspects in the line up."

"I dunno, Clay! Christ. You make nice with those wetback motherfuckers all of a sudden? How do you know one of those Mexicans didn't take a crack at you?" Darby was starting to get frantic. Either he really didn't do anything or was running out of lies to tell.

"All quiet on the Oakland front. Sorry to break it to ya," Book replied quietly, that snake-like grin still on his lips. "Plus, they wouldn't know shit about my little girl. That's a special privilege that belongs only to you. And don't act like we're oblivious to your dealers trying to break into Charming. Lots of swastikas turning up."

"You do know that your ex-wife is mostly Jew, right, Darby? The little missus bring that up?" Bobby cut in, "Or is that whole white hate thing just a manner of convenience?"

Darby sighed, spraying a fine mist of blood into the air. "I had a difference of opinion with one of my associates. He decided to try and take a corner of my market, took a bunch of my guys with him. If the asshole thought it was good for business, he might want to get rid of SAMCRO too."

"And his name?" Clay asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew that one way or another; time with Darby was nearing its end.

"Hirsch. Was my right hand for a long time, knew Reese too. Probably heard her talking about Book's kid. Only person I can think of that has it out for both of us."

Clay motioned to Tig and Otto, pulling them into a corner. A moment of private discussion with his VP and Sergeant-at-Arms. Book was keeping an eye on their little friend, looking positively delighted with the prospect of Darby's new life as a miserable fuck. After all, Reese ran straight into the idiot's arms once she left Book, and once Darby's goodwill was finished, she probably found another man to support her. No wonder Mattie hated her. Hell, she was fucking lucky that Gemma raised her instead of Reese.

Thinking about Mattie made Tig's stomach clench in an uncomfortable way, reminding him of his reason for being inside Darby's dingy repair shop.

"It makes sense. Idiot tries to put a bullet in you to make it look like Darby did it, sends the pictures with the note only on Matt's, because, again, it looks like it's from this asshole. We take out the Nazi, a portion of Hirsch's competition, and while our backs

are turned, he tries to worm into Charming." Otto explained, tightening his ponytail. Whenever they were on club business, the VP always tied it back.

"You don't think it's a lie to get us out of here so that Darby can clean up his mess and then get his guys together to send a whole bunch of bullets our way?" Tig didn't trust that white hate spouting asshole. Not when Mattie was the one in danger, even if Tig didn't get to publicly wear the badge of protector. That fell to Book, who was doing a damned good job of keeping his cool. Tig would've exploded already, and had to hide his clenched fists inside the pockets of his cut so that his rage was under wraps. Whatever rootin-tootin country music Darby had playing on the stereo wasn't helping to soothe his nerves very much either.

"We'll keep the kids on Darby while we look for Hirsch, have them close up shop and keep our friend quiet while we're out. And if he's telling the truth, our favorite Nazi will be home by dinnertime." Clay decided. "Let 'em know the plan, Otto. Tell them not to get too trigger happy, though. It's better if Darby's in one piece if we need him for leverage."

"Got it, Clay."

Otto went off to tell the rest of the guys, leaving Tig alone with Clay for a second. Tigger hoped Clay couldn't feel all his pent up energy. Doing things the slow, easy way was starting to get to Tig.

"She's okay, Tiggy. She's gonna be okay." Clay murmured quietly. "You're doing real good, lettin' Book take the lead with this one. I appreciate it."

"His kid, his revenge." Tig replied, as though that were obvious. Which it was.

"Sure. But she's waitin' for you back at the club. So long as you're smart about it, I ain't gonna make it my business." Clay lifted his shades just a hair, meeting Tig's eyes. "But you put that shit back on the club's radar, and well, ain't much I can do to stop Book. You need to talk to him, brother to brother, and sort it out. Got me?"

"Yeah. You probably think I'm some sorta sick fuck, right?"

"Tigger. I already knew you were a sick fuck. Known it for a long time." Clay shrugged. "Besides the law, not a big difference between seventeen and eighteen."

Exactly. It was reassuring to hear somebody speak the same thought that'd been running through Tig's mind since that night back in October, when all of sudden Mattie went from being just another club kid to a gorgeous, curvaceous woman. That quick, inexplicable transition was still throwing Tig's head for a loop, and it'd been nearly five fucking months. There was no right way to go about things.

It was the first time in a long while that Tig had cared about anything besides the MC, besides himself. For some reason, there was a little bit of trepidation at that thought. Because when other people became important, things got messy. Annie died, Colleen split, who the hell knew what was going to happen if he started shit with Mattie. Tigger was stuck. Every move was wrong, every solution was fucked up.

Well, there were a couple problems that Tigger could focus on solving. Finding Hirsch and taking him out. Even if he wasn't the one sending pictures, it was always good to take another Nazi off the street. Making Mattie and the rest of the girls safe was his first priority. That he could do without his brain fucking exploding into a puddle of perversion.

"Hey. Darby says Hirsch usually hangs out at the Hairy Dog in the evenings. We could pick him up there, then take him some place private to chat." Otto said, once Tig assimilated back with the group.

If Mattie wasn't so closely tied to this club business, maybe Tigger could keep her out of his thoughts. Normally, his focus was narrowed, but today, with her safety threatened, it was all over the goddamn place. But everyone else seemed to have their shit together. Jax and Opie were standing above Darby, looking determined. Bobby had gone to put a call into the Dog to see if Hirsch was around. They'd gotten a late start, wanting to catch Darby after his lunch break and before he closed up shop for the day, plus after the combination of interrogation and shit kicking it was nearly sunset. Tacoma and Fresno were probably just about finished taking care of the drug dens that had started popping up closer and closer to Charming. Hobart was doing his best to get in touch with them. Clay, Otto and Piney discussed how to separate Hirsch from his Nazi friends that were likely with him. And Book just paced back and forth, thinking, the muscles in his arms jumping every once in a while. It wasn't anxious movement, the monotonous movement purposeful in some way.

"Trying to figure out how to kill Darby if he's lyin' to us." Bobby had come back from his phone call, answering Tig's wordless question. "Without it gettin' tracked straight to the club. I take it you never seen Book get into his murder zone. You ain't the only freak show around here, Tiggy."

The Secretary thumped him on the back, and then went to tell Clay the news. Hirsch was at the Hairy Dog, but had a couple guys with him. Nothing that the Sons couldn't handle. Tacoma would head over to help; Fresno would finish with the rest of the crank labs. A plan was set into motion, and Tig followed his brothers- minus Jax and Ope- to their bikes to take the ride over to Lodi.

The sound of all the Harleys riding into the bar's tiny parking lot definitely attracted attention. A tall, heavy white dude with a shaved head walked out the back door; too nonchalant in the way he studied the cavalry that arrived to take out his boss. He had the SS behind his ear, like some of the other Aryan Brotherhood assholes Tig had seen. Gave Germans a bad name.

Tigger didn't remember his grandfather well, he died before Tig went to grade school, but he did remember the old man speaking to Tig's father, both of them arguing back in forth in the harsh language. Tig didn't know a word of German- beyond counting to ten and Scheiss, which was all he really needed- but Mattie had tried to teach him a couple things once. She took German in school. _Trager means support. Well, technically architectural support, but it's still kinda cool. You know, considering your job in the club._ Nobody else had ever bothered to think about his heritage. Hell, he didn't most of the time. But his last name did carry a sort of scary significance with his role in the Sons. Clay leaned on him, real hard sometimes, but Tigger never buckled.

Support.

Things worked out in funny ways sometimes. Like this Nazi asshole trying to pull the whole cowboy act in order to seem intimidating.

"You boys lost or something?" Big and Tall motioned to the spot where his holstered gun hung off his hip. "Ain't nothing for ya'll here, promise ya that."

Clay just held up both his hands like he was willing to concede. It was an act of course; they had Big and Tall vastly outnumbered with more members due to arrive at any moment. Just trying to make him see like he had full control of the situation, keep him calm for as long as possible.

"I'm not trying to step on any toes here. Just need to speak to a man named Hirsch. Heard that he's been hanging out here recently."

"Heard wrong. Just me and a couple friends inside. Real loyal friends, you know what I mean." Big and Tall motioned to that SS symbol by his ear.

"I'd feel better taking a look around for myself, know what I mean? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you with some friends of my own." Clay looked towards Hobart. "Stay with this idiot. Shoot him if he does something stupid."

Hobart nodded, and the rest of them walked past a stunned Big and Tall. Apparently he thought that the men wearing cuts were going to be frightened off by his little bouncer routine. After stuttering out a few more syllables, he became consigned to the fact that he was little more than bump on the road. Tig wondered absently whether that was the motherfucker's first or last name.

The Hairy Dog wasn't anything special on the inside, a stretch of polished wood bar top, worn pool table, a scattering of degenerate drunks here and there. Pretty normal as far as dives went. Tig preferred the comfort and privacy of the club, but was known to stop in every once in a while to see what sort of women were hanging out. Rarely was there anything special, but fuck, Tigger wasn't always looking for special. Sometimes, a mouth and a pussy would do when he got into one of his moods.

"Clay-" The bartender tried to call out as the Sons walked through, a cluster of white hate congregating at one of the corner tables, their conversation louder than whatever bullshit was playing on the radio. The cops wouldn't get called, but the proprietor of this particular establishment probably didn't want to pay for whatever shit that would no doubt get busted if Hirsch wasn't cooperative.

But his shout got lost in the clomping of boots against well-varnished floorboards, the Sons making their way towards their target.

"Well, well, if we don't got us a couple of bonafide Sons of Anarchy visiting our humble little hangout. Darby send you over?" The man in the seat closest the wall asked, sneering. All four of them were bald, only distinguishable by the tattoos on their skin. His was a bold _heil_ between the top two buttons of his shirt. "Guess he let you know that we're not playing nice with the Nords no more."

"Let's cut all the bullshit, fellas." Clay boomed, using the kind of no-nonsense voice that made prospect piss their pants. "Which one'a ya is Hirsch?"

Heil grinned. "He stepped out a while ago. Had some business to attend to. Something about a bird, I think."

Tig's blood ran cold. Bird? Like a Cardinal? What the fuck was the asshole trying to say? It was impossible, he told Mattie to stay at the clubhouse, she'd have no reason to duck out. And they'd only been gone a few hours, Christ, she couldn't have gotten that restless. If they'd only told her about the photo, about the message, then maybe, just maybe, his warning would've actually meant something.

"Excuse me? If you're going to speak in riddles, I might as pull your goddamn tongue out, that's how much use you are to me." Clay intoned, bending down to get face to face with the Neo-Nazi. "Because if you so much as touched a hair on any of our women's heads, I will make sure you meet a slow, sloppy end."

"I didn't touch nobody. Hirsch, well, he has an eye for young pussy. Never know what a psychopath like him could do."

No. Everything was wrong. Mattie was safe. She was cooking, running around with her younger cousins, shooting the shit with Donna, there was absolutely no way that Hirsch or anybody else could get to her. These idiots were saying things to get a rise, to provoke the Sons enough so that they'd be distracted for another few minutes. So that Hirsch could get away. But Mattie was fine. It was just a bluff. Please, let it be just a fucking bluff.

"You know what? Why don't you come outside and talk with us? My friends, Book and Tigger, they're real good at talking." Clay gestured towards them, Book and Tig exchanging a glance simultaneously.

_You think they're telling the truth?_ Book's hazel eyes- the same exact shade as Matt's- asked.

**If not, they're dead.**Tig replied just as silently.

Because Clay was right. If Hirsch so much as touched one hair on Mattie's head, Tigger would not rest until whoever was responsible stopped breathing.

He didn't save her once just to lose her not even six months later.

* * *

><p>Mattie needed an hour, two tops. Just to get away from all the noise and all the kids, to stop that claustrophobic tickle whenever she walked into the clubhouse. During parties, club get-togethers, she liked having everybody close. Didn't mind her cousins and the rest of the kids climbing on top of her and asking questions, wondering whether she'd play a game with them. Or helping Gemma and Luann in the kitchen, listening to them gossip back and forth. But today… shit. All Mattie could think about was going home, sitting in front of her piano and letting go. Her thoughts and worries floating away, just her fingers and the keys and the music. No Tigger, no lockdown, nothing. Just sound and touch.<p>

It was easy enough to sneak out of the lot; all she had to do was spin some line about fetching feminine hygiene products to Fresno's prospect by the gate and out she went. Hell, whatever was going down with the Nords couldn't be so terrible. They were the fucking Nords for Christ's sake. Just a pest, never really a threat. That was how Book always talked about them, and all the other Sons just reaffirmed that opinion. The mood wasn't as tense as back in '93, during that drawn out war with the Mayans, so Mattie figured that getting away from Teller-Morrow for a little while could only do her some good.

The piano was the only hobby- although it kind of felt like something much more than that- Mattie had that could be considered feminine. Well, compared to her other interests, at least, which included boxing, video games, and Texas Hold'em. She was raised amongst a bunch of motorcycle riding men though, so it wasn't like Mattie was going to magically become a ballerina or something like that. Book might've disowned her for that one.

Music had been a part of her life since she was three, when Reese insisted that the way that her daughter pounded on the old family piano was more music than racket. It was really the only thing she'd ever done for her daughter. To Mattie, the piano was one of the few things that she was really good at. Something to be proud of, that other people could associate with her besides the Sons of Anarchy. It was only so long that she could be a best friend or a daughter or a niece. Mattie craved her own individual identity, something just for herself.

In school, if she was part of any particular clique, it was the band geeks. Except they didn't actually fully accept her. Mattie wasn't in marching band or concert band, just the accelerated jazz band that practiced early in the morning before school and late in the afternoon. They competed some weekends, won a bunch of awards, and went back to school on Monday morning like nothing had happened. Hell, the music department had a shitload more trophies than any of the sports teams, and a fraction of the funding. Trophies that Mattie had helped to earn. She'd won a couple soloist awards, all displayed on the mantle above the fireplace at home- except for one, which Book 'borrowed' to show off to his brothers and then forgot to return. It had gotten lost amongst the MC knick-knacks, but Mattie didn't mind. At least the Sons made her feel included. The kids at high school, well, her MC association made people nervous enough to leave her alone. Mattie hadn't cared for her first three years, she had Jax, Opie and Donna to keep her company, but then they all graduated. She had to survive that last lonely year all alone. Should've thought that one out. Everybody else already had their designated groups of friends. No room left for Mattie.

Well, she had Mary Singleton for a few weeks, and look how that turned out. Nope. Alone was better.

As soon as she went home- well, not _home_ but the club, because that's where she met Book after school- there were tons of people that cared about her. It was kind of strange, walking around ignored for seven some-odd hours and then going to Teller-Morrow and never getting a moment alone. There were so many people to talk to, to listen to, and then there was Tigger… even though Mattie wasn't sure what she wanted to do with him just yet.

So maybe growing up in the club made her something of a social outcast, but whenever Mattie was with her family, she didn't really care.

Which was why it was so weird that they were all getting on her nerves. She never had urge to get away from the club before, usually her inclination was to run towards it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Mattie had less than a year left living in Charming before she went off to college. Or, and this was what she was leading towards, Tigger's warnings to stay put were backfiring. He hadn't meant to use reverse psychology, but that's how it felt to Mattie. Why should she stay? She wasn't important. Gemma, Luann, hell, even Precious, Mattie could see why they would need be at the lockdown. But Matt was just one of the kids.

At least, that was how she was justifying walking inside her house and heading straight for the piano. And, you know, not telling anybody where she'd gone off to. Because if she'd done that, then they wouldn't have let her go.

Mattie would've gone legitimately crazy if she had to watch one more episode of Pokemon with Tiki. Or had to flip another burger. She just needed to unwind for a little while, then she could head back. Nobody would miss her. It'd be okay.

Although, she kind of hoped that Tig wouldn't find out that she'd gone anywhere. She never directly disobeyed him before and didn't exactly want to figure out what happened if he found out. He was known for his punishments; after all, it was part of his job as Sergeant-at-Arms. But Mattie wasn't one of the boys. She had to admit though; thinking of him all worked up was sending a peculiar heat through her stomach. Mattie had seen him pissed before, shit, it was practically his default setting, but every since her brain got flipped upside down she wasn't reading his emotions right. Before, his rage meant stay away. Now, it was just fucking sexy. Christ, there was something wrong with her.

Mattie flipped through the stack of sheet music sitting atop her piano, looking for a couple pieces to get lost in before she took her ass back to the club. Something difficult enough to absorb her attention, but played through enough times so that she wouldn't be frustrated. Setting up a metronome- the little _tic tic tic_ helped to lull her into calmer state of mind too- Mattie gently grazed the black and white keys before getting to work. Music wound throughout the room, distracting her from the outside world. There was only the piano and her hands and the sheet music. The flipping of pages and key changes. Crescendos and tempo changes.

A pair of hands settling on her shoulders. Shit. Mattie stopped playing, knowing that she'd been caught. Turning, she flipped her music shut and got ready to apologize for leaving the club, but-

She had no idea who the fuck she was looking at. Tall, burly-chested, short black hair. No cut. No identifying marks, besides the portrait of Hitler proudly displayed above a surprisingly crisp white wifebeater.

Goddamn it, Tig had been right. She shouldn't have left. Charming wasn't safe until the Sons finished their business and now Mattie was somehow caught up in it.

"You must be baby Matilda." The man drawled, a heavy Southern twang in his voice. Mattie wondered briefly if it was fake, before her brain started to twinge in panic. She should run. No, she should stay put. What if he had a gun? Where was the shotgun Book always kept in the house? The kitchen, she could get a knife from the kitchen…

"Who the hell are you?" She managed to get the phrase to tremble from between her lips, although it sounded much more confident than she actually felt.

"I'm a friend of your mom's. And Darby. Remember Darby? Well, I guess I'm not so close with Darby anymore. Or your mama, really." He took a step closer, putting a hand on the gun holstered on his hip. A warning. He could draw and shoot much faster than Mattie could get away. "Your mama is a whore, you know that? I bet you're a whore too. You look like her. Maybe prettier. Younger, that's for fucking sure."

"If you know my mother, then you know who my dad is. And if you do anything to me, he'll kill you. His brothers will hunt you." Mattie challenged, hoping that her bravery might disarm him- figuratively, of course. "You should also know that a judge lives next door."

"I'll make sure to be real quiet, then. And yeah, doll, I know who your daddy is. Once I'm done with you, yeah, he'll probably have to kill me. But by then, I'll already be in control of Charming, and I'll have gotten my revenge on Reese. The world will have been set right."

Reese? He was here because of Reese? Christ. The fucking bitch wasn't even part of Mattie's life and yet, here she was, threatening it. "I never see my mother. We have nothing to do with each other."

"You're still her kid. That Jew bitch's kid. Makes you half, right? Just be doing some ethnic cleansing. Can't believe I fucked her Jew pussy without knowing. Damn embarrassing. Humiliating. Let's see how smug that cunt is when I murder you, huh? How proud the Sons are of their little town when it's flooded with my crank. I'm going to ruin a lot of lives today, baby, and I might as well start with yours." He leaned forward, curling his hands around Mattie's throat. "Still trying to decide how to do this. I was gonna fuck ya, but you are half-a-Jew. Don't know if it'd be worth it to expose myself to that kind of filth again. I would've shot you, but like you said, lots of nosy neighbors. Shit, girly. Got some kind of dilemma."

Go ahead. Waste time. Let Book figure out that Mattie wasn't where she belonged; let him interrupt this unnamed asshole's little soliloquy. Because if he tried to touch her, things weren't going to go well. Mattie's left hand might not ever be the same, but she'd break whatever bones were necessary if it meant getting out of his clutches. It was too late to run, but it wasn't too late to fight.

Mattie almost died in October. The reaper was visiting her again, albeit in a more upfront, violent way, but she wasn't going anywhere. Life was not going to end at seventeen; there was no fucking way she was going to let that happen.

So when he stalked forward after freeing the knife that was sheathed on his ankle, Mattie waited for him to strike. It would've been smarter for him to shoot her, then to make the mad dash to safety while the police were called, but if he was willing to strike revenge on Reese because she didn't tell him that she was Jewish, well, Mattie wasn't betting on smarts. Or that he knew she'd watched her father box since she was old enough to stand, and that she'd been a decent fighter for a few brief years. For some reason, despite the fact that he had a knife and she didn't, Mattie felt like she had the advantage.

Until his arms flew out, catching her, knocking her to floor. His hands found purchase on her skin and Mattie was trapped.

There was a knee pressed into her stomach, so that no matter which way she struggled, she couldn't free herself. Mattie couldn't get enough air to scream, and once that knife was pressed against her throat, shit, she couldn't even think. Everything went blank, her mind just a running list of all things she could do in order to stay alive. _Move. Just fucking move!_ A voice at the back of her head screamed, wailed for action, but Mattie couldn't. The knife was too tight to afford much movement.

She couldn't die. She just couldn't. There were so many things she was going to miss out on. College. Getting a job. Getting married. Starting a family. Christ, she'd never get to have kids. Mattie would never get to prove to Reese what a shitty mother she'd been. Get to make Book a proud grandfather. And what did she have to show for her life anyway? Good grades? A couple trophies for playing the piano? A broken hand? Mattie hadn't even been properly fucked.

Jesus, things had to be getting desperate if that's where her thoughts went. Especially when she associated that last desperate idea with Tigger. Now, in the moment right before she was going to die, she could see it all so clearly.

Mattie had feelings for Tig. Real, strange, romantic feelings. It didn't matter that she was seventeen and that he… wasn't. That's just what things were. He saved her life once, and now it was her turn to do the heavy lifting and fight her way back to him. Mattie could do it. Only one of her legs was pinned down by this Reese-hating asshole, so if she could swing her knee upwards, catch him off guard and then knock the knife loose, or at least away from her throat, she might be able to free herself. The only other option was waiting to die, and well, Mattie wasn't willing to take the backseat in this situation.

Angling one hip closer to the carpet, giving her free leg a bit of leverage while the nameless man babbled incoherently to himself about how to kill her, Mattie made the decision to strike while his attention was mostly on himself. Just as he said that he wanted things to be messy, she gave him the opportunity. Her right knee collided with the small of his back, which Mattie knew from experience didn't feel very good. Definitely the distraction she needed. The knife was gone while he recoiled, and so she used her good hand, the right, to knock him in the jaw. The blow made her whole arm reverberate with the impact, although Mattie managed to roll out from underneath him.

Book's shotgun was out of the question. She didn't know where it was. The little pistol Gemma gave Mattie for her 15th birthday was in her underwear drawer, too far away to make a dash for. The knife, though, that was a good idea.

Because somebody was going to die. And it sure as shit wasn't going to be her. So Mattie hit him again, with her left hand, which even though it was busted had always been the side she favored. Her knuckles against his skin felt strangely good, so she did it again, until he staggered to his feet.

The knife struck her arm somewhere in the next swing, the steel sinking into her flesh so quickly that Mattie barely noticed the blow until the blood started to fall onto the beige living room carpet. Jesus. He got her good, and went to stab wildly again, but Mattie had already taken a step backwards and thrown her right fist forward. It caught him in the wrist, the awkward angle making him drop the blade. He looked up for a brief moment, his dark eyes flashing with something other than bloodlust. Yeah. The playing field got a little bit more even.

When her attacker bent down to fumble for his knife, Mattie decided to risk kicking at him, even though Book always said that kicking during a fight was for pussies. It didn't matter. Her pride was already hurt, being cornered in her own house by an absolute stranger looking to get revenge on Reese. Why didn't he kill _her_? What did Mattie have to do with anything? How did he even fucking know that she was home? Maybe he had eyes on the lockdown and watched her leave, followed Mattie back to her house and she didn't even know it. She was such an idiot. Book taught Mattie how to protect herself, shit, she'd known how to shoot a gun while she was still in elementary school, how to throw a decent punch much earlier than that. She wasn't some delicate little flower. Matilda Cardinal was a shit-kicking, tough girl who could take on the nameless asshole who decided that this would be her last day on Earth.

Her foot collided with his shoulder as he bent down, knocking him backwards. That was the moment he went for the gun, unsteady as he was, probably tired of Mattie fighting back. Terror washed through her for a single, irrational moment, before she lashed out again, her right fist catching his forearm, allowing the Glock to fall to the carpet, her left colliding with the side of his neck. Distraction. A flinch that allowed Mattie to duck down and pull cold, vicious metal into her palms. Enough was enough.

She tugged the safety off, lined up her shot and fired. And then she squeezed the trigger twice more. Until Mattie was sure that the body on the floor wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.

Exhausted, Mattie sat on the floor next to the unnamed man who tried to murder her, watching his blood seep into the carpet. Her own was still trickling down her arm, another gash inside her palm also bleeding pretty well. The adrenaline coming in waves was messing with her memories- she couldn't recall getting struck. All Matt could think about was sitting in the little jail cell back at Charming PD. Lawyers pleading self-defense in front of an unsympathetic Judge Hale.

And she didn't care. There was no guilt, no remorse.

Because she was alive. And whoever this was, dead in her living room, wasn't.

So Mattie sat and waited. The sirens would come soon.

* * *

><p>Tigger rode wildly, ducking through traffic, going so much over the speed limit that it was a fucking miracle he didn't get pulled over. All that mattered was finding Mattie, figuring out where the hell she could be. Book, Bobby and Otto were checking out some of Hirsch's other hangouts, but Book was… Tig couldn't even think of a word to describe the man's mental state. Unhinged was the closest he could get. Christ, the man took those Nazi pricks out pretty much on his own when they hinted that Mattie was in trouble. At that point, Tigger still thought it was a bluff, a distraction, but then Piney called the clubhouse to make sure.<p>

He said that Gemma couldn't find her. Couldn't find her for hours. The prospect guarding the gate said she went out for tampons and Tig was so goddamn angry. She didn't listen to him. There were assholes out for her blood for some fucking mystery reason and Mattie decided not to heed his warning. Somebody wanted to hurt his girl, his innocent, angel-faced girl, and Tig didn't even know the first place to look.

He wanted to be hunting down Hirsch with the other guys, but Clay told him to look for Mattie. Check out her hangouts. Tig had meticulously checked the library and bookstore, popped in the little music store downtown, even looked inside the one room movie theatre on Main Street. Nothing. Forty minutes wasted, and he wasn't any closer to figuring out where she was. The plan was to return back to the clubhouse by eight, no matter the result, and if Mattie was still gone, they'd all regroup, re-plan, and start again.

Fuck, Tigger would search until dawn if that's what it took.

First though, he'd check her house, in case she stopped in and didn't even realize that everyone was searching like mad for her. Please, Jesus Christ, let that be what happened. Let all this bullshit be a false alarm. Because, really, what would Hirsch need with Mattie? Why was she so damned important to him? If his beef was with Darby, with the Sons, an innocent kid shouldn't matter. But they weren't dealing with normal human beings. By Darby's account, Hirsch was a Southern idiot so consumed by race hatred and the desire to expand his crank business that Tig wasn't sure what he'd do. Kill Mattie? Rape her? He didn't want to think about it. Couldn't. Because it was making him nauseous to go down either train of thought.

There were feelings there, for Mattie. He didn't care if she was seventeen. Not anymore. That girl was something more than just Book's kid, and Tig couldn't deny it any longer. She was beautiful and sweet and smart, and if he kept dragging his heels and closing his eyes and pretending like he wasn't interested in her, he'd lose her. Damn, he'd been so jealous of Kozik talking to Mattie that morning. Because the blonde was better looking than him, younger, fitter, and not such an asshole. Well, Tigger thought he was an asshole, albeit a different kind of asshole from himself. Not so bitter, not so fucked up. Mattie had every reason to run straight to Koz's bed. But Tig didn't want her to. He wanted Mattie. He wanted her so fucking badly, and now she was in danger.

There was a strange car in Mattie's driveway and Tig's heart and stomach sank simultaneously. It was just the orange Ford pickup though, Mattie's little Honda nowhere to be seen. He pressed a palm onto the truck's hood, hoping that it'd still be warm, but no. It was stone cold. Like it'd been sitting for a long time. Like Tigger was too goddamn late. So he drew his gun and jogged to the front door, noticing how it was just the littlest bit ajar. Shit. Hirsch got there first. Tig couldn't save her. He couldn't do anything.

Stepping gingerly inside in case Hirsch had Mattie alive and was waiting for one of the Sons to come in and intercept, Tig looked around. The entranceway was normal, nothing out of place. Just the regular clutter of coats and shoes. Once he walked inside the living room, he saw it.

The blood. There was so much fucking blood.

A sound lit the air; so suddenly and so loudly that Tig didn't even know what it was at first. Then he realized that the strangely low-pitched sound was his own voice, screaming her name over and over, desperately calling for a girl that he knew wasn't even close to being alive anymore. Sinking to his knees, Tigger felt the grief envelope him. She was gone. He'd saved her once, and now… Damn it. His whole body hurt, his temples clanged with the bells of misery. Tigger didn't cry, but the tingle of oncoming tears blurred his vision. He failed her.

Tig had to find Mattie, had to make sure that asshole didn't defile her body, had to make sure that she was safe for Book to see. Because as shitty as Tigger felt, well, it wouldn't hold a candle to her father. That man lived for her. He killed to protect her. And now it was all for nothing. Standing, Tigger stumbled a few more steps, blinking away unshed tears, hating himself for being so weak. Mattie wasn't his Old Lady, his girlfriend, or his lover, but somehow, she was still _his_. He couldn't explain it. The notion was just a feeling of inexplicable ownership that tugged inside his chest every so often. She was the third woman he'd lost. Annie, Colleen, and Mattie.

Weakly, Tig looked towards the kitchen, where there was a little hallway that divided it from the living room. And he saw the body, stretched out on the floor, blood slowly soaking and traveling through the carpet.

But it was too tall to be Mattie. Too many swastika tats, short, short hair. It was a man's body. Which meant maybe, just fucking maybe…

Mattie was sitting cross-legged on floor near the body, studying the lifeless form so thoughtfully that she didn't even recognize Tig right away. Then her expression, that strangely calm face, twitched into life. She was okay. She was alive. Covered in blood that Tig wasn't entirely sure belonged to Hirsch, but she was in one piece. His Mattie was fine.

"Tigger?" Mattie's voice was so tiny that he wanted to reassure her somehow. But Hirsch was sprawled on the ground between them, occupying all the space that Tig wanted to leap over in order to see her.

"Baby?" He asked tenderly, still trying to figure out how to reach her. "Baby, are you okay?"

"I-I had to kill him. He was gonna, he was gonna…" She trailed, lips trembling just a little bit. "Jesus motherfucking Christ, I killed him. I shot him, Tigger. I fucking shot him."

Her tone warbled just as Tig vaulted over Hirsch, landing near enough to Mattie to see the gash across her forearm and the one in the palm of her left hand. The broken one, if he remembered right. That had happened when she was just another kid. But now she was something more, something important, and Tig just had to touch her. Hold her; make sure she was really okay.

He lifted Mattie into his arms, getting as close as possible without crushing her. One of her hands burrowed into his hair, the other clutching his shoulder, and relief flooded him. She was whole. His Mattie was whole. Tig gently lifted her face, running a thumb over her cheekbones, then her lips, just because he could. Mattie tilted into his caress, not shying away from his callused fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Tig. I'm so sorry for not listening to you. I shouldn't have left." Mattie whispered, leaning her forehead against his.

"It's okay." Her mouth was so close that Tig was almost unable to focus. The gun on the carpet drew his attention, though. Shit. Neighbors might've called the fucking police. That was the last thing Mattie or the club needed.

Mattie grabbed him tighter. "I murdered him, Tigger."

"In self defense. Don't worry. If PD has to handle things, Unser will take care of you. I promise, sweetheart. It'll be okay."

She nodded, her hazel eyes staring directly into his. Trusting him to make things right. Tigger would, for the girl that had accidentally been turned into a killer, Christ, he might do just about anything. He didn't like the dangerous and invisible pull she had, but he couldn't fucking deny it anymore. Mattie was just a baby, just a kid, but… there was some unknown force that kept pushing them together, kept them tangled in one another. He couldn't pretend it was just a matter of attraction, something that Mattie would grow out of and he'd grow tired of. She was seventeen… but she wasn't. Her age and her maturity level were two completely different numbers.

"Tigger?" Mattie asked quietly, her gaze roaming over his face for a few seconds before flicking her eyes back into that stare.

"Yeah, babe?" All Tig had were those intimate little nicknames. Couldn't touch her at the club, could barely look at her. So he used the babies and the sweethearts and the dolls in order to convey feelings he didn't even fucking understand.

"This is going to sound weird, and I don't want to scare you, but…" She sighed and leaned her head back. "I don't know. Forget it."

"Mattie? What is it?" Was she worried about the dead man on the floor? Did he _touch_ her? Because even though Hirsch was dead- the flush of rage was so sudden and so potent that Tig couldn't finish the thought. He didn't want to imagine something like that happening to Mattie.

"I-I… this going to sound so stupid. You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I won't. I promise." Tig held her a little closer, their bodies flush. Mattie shivered, just a little, and he began to wonder whether she was okay after all. Christ, she was probably in shock or some shit.

"Okay." Mattie drew a deep breath. "I think I'm starting to… fall for you. And I know that it's wrong and that it's completely weird, and that you're probably not interested in me at all, but Tigger… I don't know what to do. I want to call it a crush, a fascination, but it's not. It's more and it's uncomfortable, but it's how I feel. And after today, after being so close to- I just can't not acknowledge it anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."

Tig didn't answer. Not with words. He lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers, so hard that he was sure Mattie was going to pull back in pain, but she just placed one of her hands against his cheek. Her soft palm rasping against the bristle of five-o'clock-shadow that was beginning to grow, his fingers gripping her waist for dear life. Because it was killing him not to lift her off the ground and carry her into the bedroom, rip off her little t-shirt and run his mouth over those luscious young tits. Then he'd slowly, deviously unbutton her jeans, let Mattie cry out for more before plunging inside her. Christ, he wanted her so fucking badly; even if was technically against the law.

He'd committed worse crimes.

But instead, Tig pressed Mattie's ass against the kitchen cabinets, kissing her deliriously, parting her lips with his tongue, needing to taste her. Without thinking, he squeezed one of her breasts, eliciting a cry of pleasure that made it even harder to keep his dick in his pants. Mattie whined again as his tongue rolled around hers, sunk her tiny hands into his cut and pulled herself upwards.

Maybe she wanted him just as badly. Judging by the way she shamelessly bucked her hips, the answer to that unasked question was a definite yes.

Things someplace in Tigger's brain shifted, emotions rolling around in places where he'd not allowed them for a long time. He truly cared about the girl practically begging him to fuck her, cared in such a deep, frightening way that made him reconsider his current decision to take her right there in the kitchen. Mattie was probably shaken up, even if she'd been the picture of placidity up until Tig decided to stick his tongue halfway down her throat. She'd just killed a man that tried to kill her. Fragile would not even begin to describe her mental state. So, he'd wait before figuring out where her bedroom was, before exploring the flesh underneath her clothing.

When he pulled his mouth away, breathless, just the tiniest bit love drunk, he could feel her disappointment. Or maybe his was just ebbing off in palpable waves.

"Yeah?" Mattie asked quietly, swollen lips tugging into a smile.

"Yeah." Tigger replied, grinning back.

Yeah. He didn't think he could put it any better.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah, I was totally nerdy enough to look up the meaning of Tig's last name. Blame it on seven years of German and an absurd amount of curiosity. Next post is going to flick back to present time, and will probably go down that road for a couple chapters at least, mostly because I'm still working on the next batch of flashbacks. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	22. Chapter 22

_Strange how the half light_

_Can make a place new_

_You can't recognize me_

_And I can't recognize you_

_We run through these streets_

_That we know so well_

_And the houses hide so much_

_We're in the half light_

_None of us can tell_

_They hide the ocean in a shell_

_Half Light I – Arcade Fire_

* * *

><p>"Happy birthday, kiddo."<p>

Clay slid a shot glass towards Mattie, grinning. The clear alcohol mocked her, as did his smirk, because if there was something that she was not good at, well, it was holding her liquor. Mattie might've snuck her first drink with Jax and Opie when she was eleven, but it didn't make her any less of a lightweight.

"Oh come on, Clay. It's ten thirty in the goddamn morning. Baby girl will pass out before noon." Gemma clucked before tossing back the shot herself.

"Just trying to get her into the festivities. Not everyday that a woman turns…" Clay paused as Gem dangerously raised an eyebrow. "That a woman has a birthday."

Gemma shook her head. "Yeah, I'm sure servin' her tequila for breakfast is really goin' to do the trick, baby."

Clay chuckled, and kissed his wife's cheek. "Okay, okay, maybe pancakes woulda been a better idea."

Mattie watched the scene in amusement while she waited for Tig, who was slowly but surely getting himself ready for the day. Come early, he'd said, after she dropped Moby at school. Of course, that didn't mean he'd be able to rouse himself from bed before Mattie made it to the club, hence the waiting.

Half-Sack handed Mattie a glass of orange juice- without vodka, he declared when Gemma shot him a look- and a light blue envelope. Hesitantly, she accepted it, and tried not to betray the fact that the Prospect getting her a present was absolutely fucking adorable. Although, when combined with his red cheeks and nervous tics, Mattie was having a hard time keeping her thoughts to herself.

Once she lifted the card out, a picture of Scooby Doo wished her a Really Rood Rirthday- she'd told Half-Sack once that the cartoon was her favorite when she was a kid, and was trying to get Moby to trade Sponge Bob for the mystery solving dog. But it was fall fell out that made her pause before embarrassing Half-Sack about his choice of greeting card.

Two pictures, both pretty old. The first was of the ring outside the clubhouse, or rather, an older version of what existed now. The two men inside were blurry, though the focus seemed to be directed towards a little girl standing on the ropes, leaning over the corner. Her mouth was open, the dark curls framing her chubby cheeks wild. Mattie recognized herself immediately- even if she was only five or six in the photograph. Attendance at the Friday night fights were mandatory if your last name was Cardinal, Book used to say when she was little, not that he needed a real excuse to keep Mattie there. She loved to watch her father emerge victorious from the ring, dripping sweat and smiling from ear to ear.

Which explained the second picture. Book, Bobby and Mattie clustered in front of the bar inside the clubhouse, clinking their drinks together- two beers and a glass of coke. A tradition that the trio used to carry out whenever Book won a fight. The photo had been taken the same night- Mattie was wearing the same emerald green sweater- and all three of them looked a combination of exhausted and thrilled. Made sense though. If Mattie was about six, that meant that Reese was less than a year away from leaving Charming. And that Bobby's oldest son had just been born. There was never a calm before the storm in the MC. The storm always raged, sometimes quieter, mostly loudly, and it hadn't been any different before Mattie's family got chopped in half. She couldn't remember much of life with Reese, and maybe that was a good thing. No, not maybe. Definitely.

Mattie's father had been… lax… about taking pictures of his children. Not that she really expected him to have a camera glued to his Harley-riding hands, but there was maybe half a album worth of photographs in her house, and most of them had been snatched from Gemma's collection. So, seeing a twenty-two year old picture that didn't include Jax or Thomas, well, it was a pretty big surprise. And that they'd somehow been found by Half-Sack, that was fucking astounding.

"Where did you find these?" Mattie finally looked up, catching him running his hand through his hair for what was probably the thousandth time that morning. "I've got every picture that includes my father and me, and most of them are from my high school graduation."

"Gemma had me going through some boxes last week, and there were a whole bunch of photos, mostly of construction around the clubhouse and garage. For insurance and shit, I figured. But there were a couple non-boring ones." Half-Sack paused. "So it's definitely you then? And your dad?"

"Yeah. That's us. I'm six, maybe a little younger." She replied, grinning. "Did you show these to Bobby?"

"Naw, wanted it to be a surprise. It work?"

"Yeah! These are really amazing." Mattie reached across the bar and squeezed his hand, to show her appreciation. "It was so sweet of you to think of me."

"You told me all those stories about going to your dad's fights. I was happy to find them."

"And you remembered Scooby Doo, too. If you ever get tired of the Sons, you can always be my much younger boyfriend." Mattie joked, hoping that he'd smile back.

Sack had been a little despondent since Cherry departed to… Okay, so maybe Mattie didn't know her precise destination, but it wasn't Charming, California. The kid absolutely adored her, and thanks to stupid fucking Stahl sticking her nose too far into SAMCRO's business, Cherry was gone. Which left poor brokenhearted Half-Sack. He was already something of a lost puppy, but now…

Those ill thoughts melted as a pair of warm arms circled her waist, a little softer than they'd once been, but still strong. Tig growled good morning, before gently nipping Mattie's neck with his teeth, letting his facial scruff swipe her skin. Mattie actually liked that friction, but didn't have much time to dwell as the crotch of his jeans pressed naughtily into the small of her back, as if he were showing her exactly what he was thinking. Birthday sex. Not that Tig really needed an excuse to fuck. She didn't either, but she'd really like it if the clubhouse was a bit rowdier. Hard to hide the moaning and groaning behind the slurps of coffee and bites of breakfast.

"Happy birthday, baby." Tig snarled seductively. "Can't wait to give you your presents."

Mattie turned to face him, wanting to snake her hands into his curls, to press their lips together, to shed every item of clothing and lead Tig back to his dorm. Too many people watching them, though. Tigger wasn't much for PDA, and honestly, neither was she, but shit… she was horny. And that bulge now nestled against her stomach wasn't helping matters.

As innocently as she could, Mattie let her fingers reach out and rest on his belt buckle, the cool metal combined with Tig's almost imperceptible smirk sending a shiver up her spine. His fresh out of the shower soapy smell was making her head swim, her thoughts completely lost between his scent and a whole bunch of illicit ideas. Birthday sex might come a whole lot earlier than Mattie planned.

"Presents? As in plural?" Mattie asked.

"Yes, doll. Some you can open in public and some you… can't." Tig replied, lifting her hand from his belt and pulling it lower. "Raring and ready to go."

"What a gentleman."

"Or, I could tear your panties off and fuck you right here, in front of everybody. Because your whole innocent and pure act is making me so goddamned-" Tigger kissed her hard, leaving off the end of his statement. That was okay; she could figure it out for herself. If Tig was willing to make out with her in front of most of his brothers, there probably wasn't a whole lot he would censor…

"Christ, Tiggy. Let the poor girl breathe." Clay shouted genially.

Mattie was so sexually frustrated that disappointment clutched at her chest as Tig slowly pulled away. It wasn't like they were having a dry spell- Tig had never seen one of those in all fifty some-odd years of his life- but Mattie felt like it'd been a long time since they had sex. It wasn't, and they'd been fucking far frequently than she and Patrick did, but she still had that prickly sensation like she wasn't doing something right.

Mattie didn't expect him to apologize. When they were sitting on her porch, leaning against one another, she didn't even expect him to admit that he missed her. Or that he was hurt by her departure. Tigger was usually close-lipped about his emotions, much like her. Mattie could read him, though, could always pick up on those silent feelings without him having to open up his mouth. And he could do the same for her. That's why they worked so well together, how their relationship could gain depth without the constant need to define it. Or maybe, that's exactly why it didn't work the first time. Or it could've been the hour and a half distance to Berkeley. Or the plane ride to New York. Who knew?

Gemma once told Mattie if there was no trust, there was no love. She never knew if it was a warning or a compliment. Because Mattie did trust Tig, she trusted him to keep her safe, to love her, but not for his underwhelming belief in fidelity. He might've cheated on her already, but if she wasn't his old lady, well, then, it wasn't exactly cheating. Or at least, that's how Tigger would justify it. But Mattie shouldn't be thinking about that. She should just enjoy her twenty-eighth birthday. Because for once, Matt was surrounded by her family. Which was much better than any of the ones she'd celebrated in New York City.

Gemma had acted like she was taken aback when Mattie said she didn't want a big party. Wasn't her style. Plus, twenty-eight? Hardly an exciting birthday. There weren't a whole lot of those left, and Matt thought that when she approached the big 3-0 she'd probably dive into a bottle of wine and never come out. Now, that sounded like a fiesta. But that was two years away, and it seemed like Gem had made the rounds during the past week, reminding everybody that it was Mattie's 28th. So far the variety of gifts was greatly amusing.

Juice had decided to give her a bag of weed and a video game. One of Mattie's guilty pleasures- the video games, not the pot, okay, maybe that too- especially after growing up in from of an original Nintendo with Jax and Opie. They'd spent hours playing Super Mario and Zelda, although Mattie had been the only one to graduate to any of the newer systems. She didn't play very often, not since watching Moby full time; she was slowly but surely making her way through _Grand Theft Auto IV_. She'd casually remarked upon her interest to Juice one night, him being one of the guys she didn't know particularly well, and they'd ended up talking for hours. So he'd given her a copy of the newest _Call of Duty, _as long as Mattie agreed to play online with him when she got good enough.

Then there was Half-Sack's gift, which she did not expect whatsoever. It was so incredibly thoughtful of him. The boys might think that he was stupid, but Mattie thought that he was much smarter than they gave him credit for. Brother from another mother, Bobby'd called the kid, better than the one that Mattie was related to biologically. Did her George even know that it was her birthday? Better question- did her mother? You'd think that Reese would remember giving birth twenty-eight years ago, however, considering who Reese was, it wasn't very likely.

Clay gave Mattie a gorgeous leather jacket, which Mattie assumed Gemma had bought and written her husband's name on the card. It was a charcoal grey, and the buttery-soft material fit her like a glove. The coat hit her right above her lips, accentuated her hourglass figure- which she was pretty close to losing considering all the food Bobby kept bringing over- with a belt that fastened around her middle. To wear during one of Tig's joy rides, the President said when she lifted it out of the tissue paper lined box, awed.

Yeah. Patrick might've been rich as all fuck, but he was not the best at giving gifts. Mattie had only been in town almost two months, and yet, her family made her as though she'd never left at all. Even Gemma seemed to forgive her, in her begrudging, don't-make-me-declare-my-love-for-you-in-so-many-words way. Or she was more concerned with keeping Tara away from Jackson and moved Mattie to the backburner. Mattie thought that maybe, just maybe, the Queen understood why she ran away after all and was just trying to put her through the paces.

Gem's gift had been thrust at Mattie, the Queen looking her up and down and nodding, as though she was sure that whatever was in the heavy box would be perfect. A pair of black knee-high boots, with a heel that made Mattie nervous. They were similar to the ones Gemma wore, except hers had an intricate lace-up detail running up the back. Mattie must've blanched upon seeing them- they were beautiful shoes, just, well, scary- because Gemma had some choice words for her.

"You need a new wardrobe. Can't be seen walking around Charming with a stuck up little bitch. This is the first step, baby girl. Eventually, I'm going to get you into something less… uppity." Gem replied bluntly, "Because I can not take this floaty, flowery designer shit anymore. There's no _couture_ in an outlaw MC. Understand?"

Mattie had been trying to keep New York out of her outfits, but it was not working as well as she'd thought. For her birthday, she'd decided upon a cream colored tank with gold beading along the neckline, a black cardigan and dark skinny jeans. Her shoes were electric blue suede ballet flats, but it was clear that Gemma was wordlessly ordering her to change into the boots. Which Mattie did, since you didn't question the Queen's orders- even silent ones.

Feeling four feet taller and a shitload less steady, Mattie had been camped out on of the barstools since then, knowing that if she was sitting, there was only a medium chance of embarrassing herself.

So, boots, a jacket, photographs, a video game and weed. And the day had only just started.

Bobby, Chibs and Jax were off in a corner, laughing and talking over a couple of her uncle's muffins. Such an unmanly breakfast, Mattie couldn't help thinking, watching as Jax flashed her a grin. So far he hadn't talked to her about Tig, which Mattie was thankful for. Maybe Jax finally decided that she was old enough to fight her own battles, and to choose who to be in a relationship with. Opie was much more accepting when Tig and Mattie got together, but Jax responded to the news kicking and screaming. Well, he'd challenged Tig to a round in the ring and got his ass handed to him- he was barely patched in and Tig had twenty pounds and more than fifteen years on him. It was the last of the showdowns for a while, but Jax never stopped acting like an overprotective older brother. Hopefully, a little more than a decade later, his brotherly instincts could be kept in check.

Clay's phone rang, and he went off to answer it, leaving Mattie and Tig alone once again, if one didn't count Half-Sack bumbling around behind the bar. Tigger scooted a little closer, their hips barely touching.

"You look good in those shoes. Sexy." Tig said, running a finger over her knee.

"Present from Gemma." Mattie retorted, catching his grin. "I can barely walk, so you'll have to admire them while I sit still."

"Not a problem."

Mattie's phone also went off, and so she lifted her heavy tote to root around inside. It was right underneath Juice's weed, and the little blue box on the home screen declared that she had a new text… from Chibs.

_So. You and Tiggy go from not speaking to each other for two weeks to nearly fucking each other in front of everyone? How'd that happen?_

**What is that supposed to mean?**She fired back, glaring across the room. Chibs was deftly avoiding her glance, pretending to be distracted by his cell.

_Your hands were riding a little low before. Just saying. _

**You were watching me, then?** There. That should shut him up.

But it didn't. _Just a friend looking out for another friend. Jealously, maybe._

His brown eyes lifted to hers, tilting his head as though daring Mattie to continue. Pointedly, she threw her phone back into her bag, and then put her purse onto the stool next to her. Chibs retaliated by sending her another text, which she decided to ignore. If he wanted to make things awkward, he could, but she was not going to take part in any games. Whatever tendril of flirtation she and Chibs had established was just that- flirtation. It wasn't serious. Neither of them was going to fall in love and that was that. Mattie didn't call the shots very often, but this time, she was taking the reins. Book told her, a long time ago before she ever started up with Tig, that if she found love with one of his brothers, it was perfectly fine. She just needed to stay out of the club's way. Don't bring drama, don't instigate things, and don't ask unnecessary questions. Although, now that she was thinking about it, Book probably thought it was Jax or Opie that she was going to fall for. If he knew the man would end up being Tigger, well, that amicable but truthful advice might not have been so amicable.

And starting things with Chibs while Tig was still part of the picture would definitely be going directly against two out of three of her father's wishes. So, whatever weird, pseudo-romantic, too flirtatious bullshit was going on between her and Chibs would need to end before it got out of hand. Not that Mattie knew how to tell him that without sounding like an absolute bitch- with a big mouth to boot- so for now, she'd focus on ignoring him to the best of her abilities.

"Hey, look at you two. Just like old times, huh?" Jax had headed past the bar to refill his cup of coffee. "At least the age difference is a little less creepy now- except, naw, it's not."

That comment was directed at Tigger, who Jax always seemed to blame for starting their little tryst. He never, ever considered the fact that Mattie had to be at least partly responsible, because in his mind, she was still the girl that used to sleep over his house every Friday night. Jax always magnified the two-year difference between himself and Mattie, always had to be the shit-kicking, protective older brother, even if that wasn't even close to how their relationship began. As kids, Mattie and Jax were known for their epic fights. Throwing punches, biting, the whole nine yards. Opie and Thomas- God rest his soul- used to watch on the sidelines until Gemma or Book or JT intervened. Mattie loved it when JT broke up their brawls, because he always ruffled her hair afterwards and gave her an 'attagirl. Then, he'd grab Jax by the earlobe and drag him off to be disciplined by his mother. If they were caught by Book or Gemma… there was generally hell to be paid. But the aggression that she and Jax once shared definitely waned as they aged. By the time she was in second grade and he was in fourth, most of the school was under the misconception that they were either siblings or cousins- the pair never cared to elaborate to their classmates.

Which was why his overprotective nature was both irritating and reassuring. Mattie was a woman in the latter half of her twenties, who took full responsibility for her decisions, no matter how misguided or impulsive they seemed. Because the most important choices were always the ones that you had to make on the fly, choices you could never take back. She'd made the wrong ones plenty of times, and it hadn't killed her. Sure, they were usually soul shattering and they hurt for a long, long time, but she made it through. This was part of her birthday resolution to look on the bright side of things- like Book would've wanted- which was as close as Mattie would ever get to being an optimist.

Clay wandered back from his phone call, a rare wide smile gracing his face. "ATF is off our backs, gentlemen."

There was a raucous commotion, all the brothers shouting and congratulating one another. Mattie didn't know the details, but she realized it meant one thing- no more Stahl for the time being. The woman had gotten under Matt's skin, which she absolutely hated. She knew what her life was, what directions it pushed her in. Stahl showed Mattie exactly how complacent she was, how afraid she was of confrontation. Not physical confrontation, she was prepared for that, but anything that would make Mattie flinch emotionally made her close her eyes and run. Tig to Patrick back to Tig. And if he broke her heart again, who knew where Matt might end up.

Now that Stahl had pointed out the error of her ways, Mattie was determined not to make those same mistakes. They taught her important lessons, but she wasn't a naïve twenty-one year old anymore. Mattie had found a little bit of strength, and whether it was learned or inherent, she didn't care. Either way, it was hers to use as she saw fit.

Tig kissed her again, surprising Mattie out of her thoughts, his hands gently lifting her face so he could capture her lips more easily. Normally, Tigger wasn't so careful, his tongue would already be begging for access to her mouth, fingers rubbing against the cups of her bra, fighting for the peak of a nipple. Trying to make her succumb to desire.

"You okay?" He whispered, when Mattie demurely placed one hand on his shoulder instead of tucking it into his curls- even if it was what she desperately wanted.

"Yeah. I guess even hearing the acronym ATF makes me a little pissed off."

He pressed his lips against her forehead, near her hairline, like he always did when he was trying to comfort her. "Everything is good. You heard Clay. Nothing's going to happen."

Which was exactly the moment when the ATF burst through the front door, screaming, pointing guns, pushing people to the floor. Mattie bounced off the linoleum hard, ribs and chin colliding with the ground before her hands had a chance to cushion her fall. Her head was ringing from the impact, so she didn't quite hear what the agents said before they cuffed Bobby. Mattie looked on, breathlessly watching them haul her uncle out of the clubhouse, unable to open her mouth. No. There was some mistake. The Sons of Anarchy always cleaned up their messes, even when murder was involved. Because as deaf as Mattie suddenly became, she was sure that word left somebody's lips.

There was a familiar click of heels, and Mattie lifted her head to left just in time to catch Stahl swinging one of said heels into Gemma's stomach. Stupid bitch. Stupid goddamned bitch coming after Mattie's family. Fuck her. _Fuck her_.

Somehow, in all the commotion, she and Tig had ended up closer to Juice and Half-Sack, who'd been shooting the shit at the opposite end of the bar. Stahl was making rounds, checking on all her favorite outlaws, when her black pumps stopped near Mattie. The blonde chuckled sarcastically, squatting down to get closer to Matt's eye level.

"Thought you weren't involved with club business, _princess_." Stahl asked, brushing back a lock of Mattie's hair. "You didn't know anything. Guess you knew that your uncle Bobby was a murderer all along."

"Alleged." Mattie bit out, lifting bruised chin.

"Excuse me?"

"Alleged murderer, you obtuse fucking bitch." She growled in reply.

Stahl stood, stepping gingerly between Mattie's hands, still hovering. She stopped suddenly, turning back.

"Maybe I should give you a matching pair."

The sharp pressure of a heel inserted directly between two of the knuckles on Mattie's right hand made her immediately moan. More in outrage than pain, but if Stahl was threatening to break her hand, Mattie couldn't exactly do anything in a room full of ATF agents. But she wasn't fourteen anymore, and if her right hand suffered the same fate as her left, there was no guarantee that it would ever be the same. Mattie needed that hand, for the piano, to teach Moby and to play for her own pleasure.

"Hmm… Or I'll take your pretty little bag for a souvenir. Pretty smart for an 'obtuse fucking bitch,' huh, _baby girl_." Stahl snarled, not lifting her shoe.

Sure, she'd let the blonde take the purse. It had no sentimental value anyway- but it did have a pretty big baggie full of weed in it. Shit. Juice seemed to be realizing the same thing and exchanged a glance with her.

"Don't you dare hurt her, you cunt." Tig growled, oblivious to the anxiety passing between Mattie and Juice. An agent pointed his gun towards Tigger's back, waiting for Stahl's orders. It wasn't that Mattie wanted her man to stay silent, but for the moment, he was just getting her in deeper shit.

Stahl shot her gaze towards Tig, replying that saccharin voice of hers. "Guess it's pretty hard to defend your woman from that position. Must feel pretty impotent."

Tig smiled. "You do anything to that hand and you'll regret it. Mark my words."

The blonde put up her hands in mock defeat. "Okay, okay. Let's just take a look at this purse, then. Bet there's something nice and fancy inside that designer sack."

Stahl finally walked away, leaving Mattie with a second to flex her fingers before she heard the sound of leather meeting the floor. Her bag toppling over, spilling its contents. Craning her neck, Mattie watched her least favorite ATF agent stoop down and pick up the offending package. Goddamn it.

"Wow. Looks like we've got a two for one Munson special, boys and girls. I'm thinking what, possession, intent to distribute." She snapped her fingers. "Come on, we'll bring an extra special package to the station."

Tig sighed heavily, darting his bright blue eyes first to Mattie before shuffling his attention to Juice. "You are such a fucking idiot."

"You don't know that I-" Juice stuttered, not able to keep direct eye contact.

"Don't I, Juice? Don't I?"

Somebody was pulling Mattie upwards and away from the words Tig was calling out, her legs numb from being plastered to the floor. Handcuffs slid tightly over her wrists, and she was pushed towards the front door, unfamiliar hands pressed into her skin. Mattie's mind whirled with ways to get out of her current predicament- illegal search and seizure, harassment- but it didn't stop the ATF from throwing her in the back of one of their cars.

And that was how Mattie spent her twenty-eighth birthday in Charming PD's lockup.

* * *

><p>David Hale was just walking in his front door, one hand wrestling with the lock, the other tugging a couple buttons on his uniform open. It was probably too early to be heading home, but he was sick to death of dealing with Stahl and all her lackeys. He'd left when they were all heading out to arrest Bobby Munson, something that Hale didn't really want to be witness to. Throwing Mattie's uncle into Stockton prison, yeah, that would probably go over <em>real<em> well. He'd already pushed her back into Trager's arms with little to no effort, and hadn't been able to talk to her without a SAMCRO chaperone since that date they had all those weeks ago.

Mattie was right. No relationship between her and David would ever work. He was going to wash his hands of her, let the woman run her own life into the ground, because if she stuck around with the Sons, that's where it was going. She wasn't a pretty little high school student playing innocent; she was an adult who knew exactly what sort of illegal activities the club was up to. Mattie would never betray them and fall for David Hale.

Tara going back to Jackson, David expected that. They had such an intense love at such a young age that time would never be able to erase. But he hadn't been around for Mattie and Tig. David had no real idea how she'd fallen for Clay Morrow's right hand, how they wound up together. Book Cardinal didn't seem like the sort of man to let his daughter go near somebody with Tig Trager's reputation. If there was one word that described Book, it was overprotective. David had gotten the _if you hurt her, I will find you and kill you, and they will never find your body_ speech many times, from many members of the MC, but Book's always terrified him the most. Maybe Tig, being one of his brothers, didn't receive the same warning. Wasn't exactly the easiest task to scare a member of SAMCRO into complacency. Your teenaged next door neighbor, well, sure…

His cell rang again, and David had the fleeting need to throw it against one of the wood-paneled walls. An old girlfriend once said that it made his house dark, but David liked it. Made it feel… manly. Like he should adorn the walls with mounted deer heads and the floors with bearskin rugs. But instead of smashing the phone into pieces, he glanced at the screen, figuring it to be Stahl checking up on him. Now, that was a mistake. Not only did David feel like shit for fooling around with her, but they'd also let a felon sneak out of lock up. Probably not his shining moment. He needed a release and Stahl kept touching him, looking at him like she wanted him naked… so he let her charm him out of his uniform, beckon him between her legs, and then returned the favor herself.

All while Rita escaped.

It wasn't Stahl though. Unser. Goddamn it. David was tempted to just let it ring while he drained a beer and then took a long nap, but he flipped the cell open and hissed, "Yeah?"

"Where are you?" The Chief asked, huffily. "Got something you should see."

"Home. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Naw, I think you want to come down to the station, son. Stahl brought an extra special gift, just for you. Her words, not mine." David couldn't read Unser's tone. Did the Chief know about the unfortunate sexual relationship between him and the ATF agent?

"What is it?"

Unser chuckled. "You'll want to see this for yourself."

With that, the older man hung up, and David re-buttoned his shirt. Jesus Christ, not even able to get a whole half hour to himself. If this was Stahl playing games with him, trying to get back on his knees, well, it wasn't going to happen. Plus, wasn't she supposed to be dealing with Munson's arrest? Intrigued and irritated, David rode to the station in silence, not bothering to punch the radio on like he normally would. Just him and the sound of the Jeep as it chugged along. The car was old, but reliable, kind of like Unser, if David decided to forget about his SAMCRO alliance.

Parking in his usual spot, as close to the front door as one could get, David tried his best to erase the exhaustion etched on his face, summoning his normal, hardheaded persona. With all the shit going down in Charming, it wouldn't do for the Deputy Chief to start looking weak, like he couldn't handle his town. Narrowing his steel-blue eyes, David walked inside, nodding a couple of his officers as he meandered through the small station. Unser was waiting for him outside of his office, a mischievous little smirk playing on his lips. Shit. What did the old man know? If it got out that David Hale was fucking an ATF agent working on a big-deal takedown, his ass would be chewed out for the rest of his career.

"What is it?" David asked, tucking his hands into his belt buckles so that they wouldn't fidget nervously.

"Looks like Stahl picked up a little bit more than just Munson. Or more than just _one_, if you wanna get technical." Unser motioned for David to follow him back to the cages, and he felt his eyes narrow. Just what was going on?

"What the hell did Stahl do now?" He grumbled, walking into lock up. It was quiet, mostly because it was late enough that the drunk tank got released but early enough that they hadn't yet begun to re-offend. Or rather, they hadn't tried to leave either their homes or any of the dives around Charming just yet.

There was just one occupied cell.

"What the fuck happened?" David growled, turning back towards Unser. "What is she doing here?"

He just shrugged, as though the whole situation was out of his hands. "Stahl wants to charge her with possession. Had a shitload of marijuana on her person, the bitch said. Don't know if I believe that one exactly, probably some shady shit went into discovering the weed, if I know Stahl right. I figured you might want to smooth things over. Gemma called about posting bail but if Stahl doesn't charge her today, Mattie's gonna spend the night in lock-up."

"She's a fucking lawyer. She knows her rights. We can't do that."

"I know, son. Get her out of here." Unser caught David's glare and added, "Hey, I know you two got history. Thought you would want to be the one to talk to her, see what happened. Could've had Jenkins do it, but I called you. We don't always see eye to eye but I think we both know when Stahl's just trying to fuck with people. You want Mattie to be one of them, go back home."

Sighing, he replied, "I'll take care of things."

Unser nodded and walked away, leaving David a second to compose himself before walking over to Mattie. She was laying down against the bench, curls fanned out behind her, feet propped up against the wall, holding a book above her head. He wondered how she managed to get the reading material inside lockup.

"Back to your old ways, huh?" David drawled quietly, leaning against the bars of her cell.

"She doesn't have shit on me. Stahl didn't have a warrant to search the club; she had one to arrest Bobby. If she wants to charge me, she can try, but it sure as hell won't stick." Mattie retorted, ready to fight.

"I know."

"I was supposed to pick up Moby from school an hour ago." Her voice was suddenly soft as she sat up, bringing those big hazel eyes to meet his. "Do you know where he is?"

David had heard something about Lowell Harlan Jr. heading off to rehab for the umpteenth time, but he didn't know that Mattie was the one looking after his son. Still babysitting for the club all these years later, he figured. But she was always good with kids. David wondered what was wrong with that husband in New York if he didn't want to make Mattie the mother of his children. Because a girl like her deserved kids of her own.

"I'll have Unser call Gemma, make sure Moby's okay." He paused. "Are _you_ okay?"

Probably not, considering her uncle just got arrested for murder. And that she had to deal with Stahl not just once this week, but twice, and the second involved her getting thrown in the back of a squad car. He unlocked the cell door and stepped in, taking the seat next to her. Even in the low light, David could see the bruise on Mattie's chin, and the more livid one on the back of her hand. As much as he would like to think that they came from hanging around the Sons of Anarchy, they were probably results of the raid that morning.

"I'm fine. Just pissed."

"What happened?"

Mattie held up her right hand, the injured one, with an amused grin. "Guess the bitch took a wrong step, and when Tig threatened her, she threw my purse on the ground. And she found the pot there. But, like I said, no warrant to search the premises."

Of course, Trager was involved somehow. Defending 'his woman' landed her in jail.

"I'll make it go away, it might take a second, though. You mind waiting a little while more?"

"Unser tossed me one of his horror paperbacks. I'll be entertained." Mattie chimed.

David envisioned the shelf behind Unser's desk, where a collection of well-worn Stephen King novels sat, ones that he would comb over when things got quiet. Which they hadn't been for a while, not since the ATF decided to take up residence at Charming PD. Hale wanted SAMCRO out of his town, he really did, but not if it was going to stir up more shit than had been going on to begin with. The bodies were piling up, and David was afraid that innocent people were going to get hurt. Like Opie Winston. Fucking cunning bitch, trying to set him up like he ratted on the club. Stahl was going to get him killed, and worse, she probably wouldn't give a rat's ass if she did. Opie had a wife, he had two kids… And he was one of Mattie's best friends.

Glancing over at the brunette by his side, David inwardly sighed. If something happened to Opie, it would make David just as guilty as Stahl. But he had a duty to his town, to be the cop that they needed. Not necessarily the one that the Sons of Anarchy wanted, but David didn't care about that. He did, however, care about the girl inches away from him, the one that was wearing outlandish knee-high boots, ones that didn't suit her whatsoever. She was notoriously clumsy in anything with a heel higher than a sneaker's, but maybe, time had changed that. Time changed a lot of things. Mattie kept saying that they both were different, but no, it was just her. David Hale was the same man he was six years ago. The same man with the same sense of justice, and as much as he wanted to warn Mattie about Opie, he couldn't. It put him too close to SAMCRO's pocket. David would eventually be taking Unser's job, but he would not be shouldering the same affinity for the MC.

But the thought still nagged him as he sorted through the paperwork hastily filled out when Mattie was arrested, losing a couple key pieces to the paper shredder beneath his desk. Stahl didn't have enough to hold Mattie anyway, and the eventual fall out of the blonde's vindictiveness- David assumed Stahl's grudge had something to do with Mattie not giving her any pertinent information when the agent was questioning all the women- would not be worth it. What David was doing was more than just helping an old friend. His high school sweetheart.

No, he was not trying to win any favors with Mattie, favors that her cool expression declared were not actually possible to earn, David was just…

Damn it.

Mattie was shacked up with Tig again, David had seen Trager's bike in her driveway the couple times he drove down her street to work. It was on his route. Not like he was purposely heading down Wolf Court to see if she was home. Because that would be stalking, and that was also illegal. David preferred to think of it as 'checking in.' He did the same for Tara, when he was near her father's house. Part of the job, making sure that Charming's citizens were safe.

David Hale was up shit creek without a paddle.

When he went back to the cages, she was reading again. She must've heard him coming though, because when he approached Mattie's cell, she was grinning. David wished for a moment that she was sixteen again, and that he was eighteen, and the world still seemed so hopeful. Before his father convinced him that Mattie was living a life that David could never be a part of.

If he never listened to his father… well, things might've turned out much differently. Perhaps it would be David's bed that Mattie fell into at night, instead of Trager's. A decade ago, Judge Hale told his youngest son that if he didn't break up with that biker whore- which was what he always called Mattie when she wasn't around- then he'd never get the financial support that he needed to go to college. So David buckled and did what his father said. It was one of his weakest moments. Jacob always insisted that it was for the best, that Mattie would've taken him down, that he never would've been successful. But his brother despised her, for reasons David never knew.

A long time ago, Mattie told him that regrets were just choices you couldn't take back. She hit that one pretty dead on.

"You're all set, Matt." David said, unlocking her cell. "I'm headed home, you need a ride?"

"Moby-"

"With somebody named," David paused for a second; sure that he'd heard Unser wrong. "Half-Sack? That's the story Unser got from Gemma, saying that the kid was on babysitting duty until you got back."

Mattie laughed, probably at his reluctance to say her friend's name. "Okay. That's weird as hell, but that's good. And yeah, I'll take you up on that ride, if you're comfortable heading to the club."

"Half-Sack is at your house. Drove your car home." They both seemed relieved at that information.

And that was how Mattie ended up in the passenger seat of his Jeep, flipping through radio pre-sets until she found a station she liked, listening to the Eagles croon about Hotel California. That choice would've make her father proud, who always used to groan about what Mattie had on her walkman.

"You settled in yet?" He asked, trying to make things less awkward, if it were even possible.

"Yeah. My things are completely unpacked, and I'm getting into the swing of things. It's all good." Mattie replied.

"Cool."

"Yup."

Then silence settled in for what felt like a very long time. A decade ago, this never would've happened. Charming High had two notable couples- Jackson Teller and Tara Knowles, and then David Hale and Mattie Cardinal. They had the kind of relationships that their fellow students were sure would stretch past high school and into adulthood, but it hadn't worked out that way. Things never worked out the way you thought they would when you were eighteen. David knew that for a fact. Tara was his first love, and Mattie was the one that had made the most impact. It was surreal and wonderful… and it didn't last.

"Do you ever think about how things would be if we'd stayed together?" David wondered aloud, hoping that she would answer.

"Occasionally, I guess." That was Mattie-speak for _why are you asking_?

"You think we would've been happy?"

"David… We were really young when we were together. I was sixteen, for Christ's sake. I thought I'd wear the same pair of jeans for the rest of my life." She retorted, turning to look at him.

"Yeah, and how old were you when you and Trager dated?" Maybe that was the wrong term for it, considering how the phrase drew her eyebrows together.

"Older than that. And… It was different."

"Different how?"

"It just was. Things worked out the way they did, and we can't change that. I'm happy, you're happy-"

"Who says that I'm _happy_?" He hissed darkly. "You think that as a single thirty-one year old man, I'm happy? Considering who my father is, who my brother is, you think I'm happy? You're delusional."

"Are you trying to blame me for whatever discontent you're feeling? Like it's somehow _my _fault? You went to college, you broke up with me, it ended right there." Her hazel eyes met his as he stopped at traffic light, daring him to continue.

"But it didn't end there, and we both know that."

"Our romantic relationship ended when I was sixteen. What happened later was a favor that you did for me as a friend. And I am not going to talk about what happened. You say one more word about it and I'll get out of the fucking car, David." She sighed. "This was such a mistake."

Mistakes. David had been making a frightening number of those lately. Some at work, some with Stahl, this one, trying to rehash the past with Mattie. She was right, though. They were young. Maybe his mind just wasn't in the right place, with all the bullshit that was happening. David hadn't loved Mattie for a long time, and trying to force that feeling, it wasn't fair to either of them. She had enough to contend with already, with Bobby in Stockton, and Opie getting set up by Stahl as a rat.

That feeling in the pit of his stomach set in again. Did he really want to be responsible for Mattie losing her best friend? Did David really want that on his shoulders? But saying anything put his job at jeopardy, and honestly, that was all he really had anymore.

"Can I ask you a question?" David tried not to sound too invasive.

"I guess."

"Do you think that a single decision can define who we are as a person? That a good one can save you or a terrible one can doom you?"

Mattie thought for a moment. "No. I think it's what you do after all the choices are made that makes you either strong or weak. There's a quote, from_ A_ _Farewell to Arms_, by Hemingway, and it says: the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

"That's… depressing."

"But honest. The world either breaks you or it kills you. Either way it hurts."

"How'd you remember that whole thing? Part of being lawyer require you to memorize long passages of literature?" David raised an eyebrow, watching the corners of her mouth twitch.

"It's part of my collection."

"Of what? Random knowledge?" He turned onto Wolf Court, Mattie's street. They still had another two blocks to go, though.

"Tattoos. Whenever I read or I hear something that I think is particularly meaningful, I add it. I'd show you, but then Tig would kill you."

David smiled. Mattie grew up with the only member of SAMCRO to have just the one mandated tattoo- the reaper on his back- so naturally; she had a rebellious affinity for ink. But it didn't mean that David could envision her pale skin with any artwork besides her scattering of freckles. They were surely tasteful, he thought. Despite the way she described them, Mattie wasn't the type of girl to get something permanent without a little bit of thought. She was sort of impulsive, however…

"Thanks for your help today. It really means a lot." Her voice brought him back to reality, and he slid into her driveway without even thinking about what he was doing. Lizard brain, David figured.

"It's no problem. Just don't get caught with that much pot again. What are you gonna do, run a dispensary?" He teased, and she frowned in an amused way.

"Very funny. Somebody, who will remain nameless, thought that it would be a good birthday present."

"Yeah, well, I had to confiscate it. I do have your purse though. I'll just say that Stahl didn't process her evidence right." He passed the heavy bag to Mattie, wondering what kind of shit she kept in there to make it weigh so much. "And happy birthday."

"Thanks," She said again, popping her door open. "I'll see you around."

David accepted her farewell, and knowing who she was hanging around with, he figured it wouldn't be long before she got into trouble again. "Be careful, Mattie."

"Bye, David." She shut the door, and headed across her lawn.

David stayed just long enough to see a little boy run out of the house and get scooped into her arms. Moby. For a moment, he wondered how old their kids would've been if he'd asked her marry him eleven years ago, like he planned.

Heaving a sigh, David backed out into the street and went to his home, lonely and depressing as that idea now seemed. But what had Mattie said about decisions?

_ I think it's what you do after all the choices are made that makes you either strong or weak._

So what was his going to be? Let Stahl destroy Opie and his family or step in and go against his badge?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I know this took about forever and a half to post. I had a… turbulent week, and things are not looking like they're going to change any time soon, so the time between posts might be a little longer than normal. I'm trying to figure out how to have enough time to get things done around the house, write new chapters, and edit existing ones without my head exploding. Anyway, sorry for the wait, thank you for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	23. Chapter 23

_I was moving across your frozen veneer_

_The sky was dark but you were clear_

_Could you feel my footsteps_

_And would you shatter, would you shatter, would you_

_And with your soft fingers between my claws_

_Like purity against resolve_

_I could tell, then and there, that we were formed from the clay_

_And came from the rocks for the earth to display_

_They told me to be careful up there_

_Where the wind blows a venomous rage through your hair_

_They told me to be careful up there_

_Where the wind rages through your hair_

_Your Rocky Spine – Great Lake Swimmers_

* * *

><p>Mattie balanced Moby on her hip as she opened the front door, trying her best not to drop the boy in her arms and twist the latch at the same time. She couldn't lie though; the homecoming was just what she needed after spending the last few hours in Charming PD lockup. Her ass hurt from sitting on that metal bench for so long, but she knew that it could've been significantly longer if David hadn't intervened. Which, of course, made her feel guilty as shit. Why'd he have to ask her all those what-ifs? Why'd he have to look so goddamn miserable? This birthday has started out on such a good note, too…<p>

"Hey! How things go?" Half-Sack asked once Mattie set Moby down. The blonde had grown far less twitchy in her presence, as though he knew that he wouldn't face the same sort of insults and jokes that his brothers threw at him at the club. Tigger called him Mattie's little puppy dog, always aiming to please.

"Not as badly as I thought they would. Stahl was too busy with Bobby to process my arrest, so Unser took care of things." Mentioning David Hale was a bad idea. The Sons of Anarchy still considered him an enemy, even if the ATF was their main focus lately. "School didn't give you trouble about picking Moby up?"

He shook his head. "Gemma called ahead, squared things away. We've been hanging out since, right bud?"

The two boys high-fived one another and Mattie fought the urge to laugh. While Tig was definitely something more like an uncle to Moby, it was clear that Half-Sack had become his cool older brother. Sometimes Mattie wondered if he wasn't too sweet to be in the MC, but whenever the thought crossed her mind, she reminded herself that he'd been stationed and shot in Iraq. Kid could probably handle anything that went his way, whether it was babysitting or running guns. She hoped that he'd make through the year of prospecting and be a fully patched member. The club could use somebody like Sack.

"Juice is in deep shi-" The Prospect quickly glanced at Moby and then decided to go a different route, "doo-doo for what happened."

"It's not his fault. Nobody knew that Stahl and her friends were going to drop by. Any word on Bobby? Is the ATF blowing smoke or is it for real?"

When Half-Sack didn't answer right away, Mattie knew it wasn't just a threat. And she respected him for not giving her the information outright. Friends or not, she wasn't in the club, and therefore, not necessarily entitled to all the details. Book had faced some murder charges back in the day, before Reese left. Mattie barely remembered what happened, one day he was taken away during breakfast and few weeks later, he was back home. It was later that she figured out what happened- well, Bobby was drunk and let it slip- how evidence had disappeared and witnesses changed their stories. She had no doubt that something similar would happen for her uncle. And if Bobby had to do a bid for the club, he'd do it with pride. Like his brothers before him. That was just how things went in Charming, California. The MC won, it lost, but it always came out even.

"I'm not sure." Mattie might've been imagining it, but she was sure that he visibly gulped when he answered. Or maybe she'd been watching way too much Cartoon Network with Moby.

"It's okay. Who's on it? Rosen or Lowen?" She hoped to God it was Lowen, because her defense strategy was not motivated by dollar signs.

"Uh, Rosen, I think." Shit. He must've noted her defeated expression, because he added, "But I'm sure Clay would be cool with you taking a look at things. You bein' a lawyer and all."

"Not that kind of lawyer," Mattie retorted with snort. "Custody battles don't exactly determine how many years a man spends behind bars. And you can bet that Stahl will try to invoke some kind of conflict of interest because Bobby and I are related."

Half-Sack shrugged at that point. "She does not like you."

"I try and pretend it's not personal." She grinned at his matter-of-fact statement.

Mattie went to toss her purse onto the couch, but not before grabbing her phone out of habit. Her addiction to the cell was something that Tig didn't understand, especially since he'd given her a pre-paid intended to replace the iPhone. _It's not like that piece of shit i-what's-it-called makes your calls more special_. But that didn't stop him from playing Texas Hold-Em whenever she wasn't using it. Mattie had learned long ago not to point out his hypocrisies.

The phone's screen blinked with unread texts- three of them. Mattie's stomach fell when she realized they were all from the same man.

_So if I treat you like shit for weeks and completely ignore you for some of them, then apologize, will you fuck me too? _Chibs sent that, after she decided to ignore him, just to taunt her. So what if he was jealous? What was Mattie supposed to do about that? Because they flirted, she was obligated to be with him for the rest of her life? She'd been careful about sending the wrong message, trying to show him that she was only being playful, not attempting to snare him for something more serious. He knew that. When it came to teasing, Chibs gave as good as he got. Pissed, Mattie deleted that message and went onto the next.

_I know you won't get this until later, but I'm sorry. I was pissed for no reason, I was jealous, and I lashed out. I didn't mean to be an asshole on your birthday. Especially with what happened. _

There. That was the Chibs she knew- agreeable, ready to set differences aside. Mattie felt a tad guilty, and was about to fire back a no-harm-no-foul text back to him, but then she glanced down at the last thing he'd sent, almost three hours ago.

_Call me when you get this. Please. Use your pre-paid._

Mattie looked up at Half-Sack and Moby, who were both occupied by the cartoons on the TV. He'd need to be back at the club soon, and she would need to start dinner before Moby got too grouchy, so she took the quiet moment and told the blonde that she was going to head upstairs to change. The lie was unnecessary- even if Sack heard something; he wasn't liable to go spreading it. But the falsehood came so naturally that Mattie didn't bother to sidestep it for the truth.

Chibs' phone rang a few times, and when he finally picked up, there was sound of the clubhouse's stereo turned way up. "Give me a second."

She waited, hearing the shuffle of footsteps and the creak of a door. Whatever he wanted to discuss, he wanted privacy. Mattie didn't like that. The day already felt eighty hours long, she couldn't deal with much more.

"You're out already? The Prospect was supposed to call me when you got home." He hissed into the phone, his voice shaky like he was still walking- no, pacing. The melodic back and forth echoed into the receiver.

"Call _you_? Specifically?"

"Yeah. Tig's too fucking worked up. What happened?"

"Just Stahl trying to show me how big her dick is. I'm free and clear. You can let Juice know that my record is still-" Well, not clean exactly, she _did_ grow up with Jax, "That my record doesn't have a drug charge."

"Good. The boy's an idiot, I swear to God." Chibs heaved a sigh. "Can you talk for a minute?"

"Yeah. I'm upstairs, and they're occupied in front of the television. What's the matter? You sound… I don't know. Not very much like yourself. This have something to do with Bobby?" Mattie sat on the edge of her bed, catching the phone in the crook of her neck while she pulled her cardigan off. Her clothing still stank like the lockup, which held the sour smell of the drunks that'd passed through every night.

"Sort of. Now, you need to promise me that what I ask you will not get repeated to anybody, even Tig. And if somebody asks you the same questions, you pretend like it's the first time, alright?"

Mattie frowned. Keeping her mouth shut was a skill akin to tying her shoelaces. She had it down pat and wasn't about to forget any time soon. But she bit back the scathing remark and just said, "Of course."

"Have you talked to Donna?"

"No. Not since a day or two ago. Why?" Mattie knew that Donna was planning to leave with the kids, and Mattie decided the best thing was just to give her friend some space while she figured things out. Her heart ached for Opie, for what Donna was ready to do to her family, but it wasn't really any of her business.

"More specific than that. When did you last talk?" Chibs' words were hurried, desperate. Mattie didn't like it one bit.

"I called her Wednesday afternoon, when she was done with work to see if she wanted to come over for dinner, but she was busy. And she texted me yesterday to say that she wanted to get together over the weekend."

"What time yesterday? After work again?" Jesus, Stahl had asked fewer questions when she dropped by all those afternoons ago.

"Late, I guess. Maybe eleven or so. Why? What do all this have to do with Bobby?"

"Mattie, come on." Code for I'm-the-one-asking-the-questions-here. Yes, he was, and she realized that, but the connection between Donna and Bobby? Shit, there was none, at least not that she could see. And Mattie had been able to put two-and-two together for as long as she could remember.

"You know, I'm perfectly comfortable with the tasks my uncle has to carry out for the club. What do you think my father did? Baked cookies? Groomed puppies? Chibs, I'm an adult who is perfectly capable of hearing and understanding the truth."

She could hear him breathing. Maybe he was waiting for her to apologize. "Mattie."

"Chibs."

"I'm sorry we ruined your fucking birthday." Their conversation was over. At least, the one in which Chibs demanded information and Mattie fumbled to interpret what was so important.

"It's fine. Doesn't matter."

"I got you a gift. It's silly."

"I'm sure it will be better than Juice's." It made him laugh. Mattie liked his chuckle. She rarely heard Tig's, who was more likely to greet a joke with a frown or a kiss, depending on his mood.

"Maybe. Club's real fucked, though. I don't when things will settle down. And Tig, he's… He's on a warpath. Don't expect the Prospect to leave 'til Tigger relieves him. I hope you don't mind the extra kid."

"Nope. Not at all. He mad at me, or are things that bad?"

"Not you." Chibs sighed again. "Things are serious. Real serious. That's as much as I can say. Stay home, okay? Whatever happens, you need to be where I- where we can find you. Promise."

Mattie closed her eyes. His misstep screamed at her, that simple swapping of words not quite covering his mistake. Did Chibs have actual feelings for her? She'd assumed that all he wanted to do was get in her pants and call it a day, but between the texts and his need to keep her safe, that idea was quickly being proved wrong. Christ.

"I promise." She thought of David's parting words. "Be careful. Please."

"I will. Bye, love."

"Talk to you later, Chibs." She replied, shutting the prepaid and setting on her nightstand.

Mattie picked a hell of a time to come back to Charming.

After changing into cotton shorts and a fitted purple t-shirt, Mattie went downstairs to check on the boys. They were still zoned out, so she took the opportunity to clean up her kitchen before starting dinner. Mattie had inherited what Bobby liked to call the Munson gourmet gene, but she wasn't in the mood for anything fancy. The two requests she'd gotten were for Spaghetti-Os and chicken nuggets, so she conceded by sautéing a few chicken breasts and boiling some pasta. She knew that when Bobby wasn't around, Half-Sack was in charge of cooking, so she wasn't surprised when he hovered over the stove, asking question after question. Tig told her once that every time the Prospect made breakfast, he ended up burning the bacon, undercooking pancakes, and filling the clubhouse with smoke. Poor kid. With Bobby likely stuck in Stockton, Tigger would have to get used to Chef Half-Sack all over again.

The three of them watched a movie before she put Moby to bed, who now occupied her guest room until Lowell finished rehab. Mattie had gotten so used to having the little boy around full-time that she wasn't gleeful at the idea of readjusting. Plus, the whole locking-Moby-in-the-bathroom scenario was trauma that she hadn't quite gotten over, although Moby didn't seem to hold it against his father. Still young enough to idolize a man that definitely didn't deserve it, she supposed, before shutting off the light in the little boy's bedroom.

Half-Sack had been tasked with spending the night- which Mattie thought was extremely odd and unsettling, but didn't say anything- so she grabbed a few blankets and extra pillows and brought them down so that he could set up camp on the couch. Chibs seemed to imply over the phone that something dangerous was going on, although he wouldn't tell her what exactly. Except that it seemed to include both Donna and Bobby, a concept that Mattie still couldn't fathom. Her best friend was actively separating herself from the club, ready to take her kids and leave Charming all together. Donna said that Opie was missing work, that he was getting deeper in the club, so she had to do what was right for her family and get the hell out of Dodge before things got bad. What could be worse than her husband spending five years in Chino? Mattie sighed internally. She didn't have enough information to keep obsessing over what the hell happened to Donna's marriage or to her uncle. All that Mattie could do was a get a decent night of sleep and start fresh tomorrow. Her nerves were too fucking fried for that, though.

Mattie really wished she could have some of that stress relieving birthday sex she'd been so looking forward to.

* * *

><p>The house was silent when Tig unlocked the front door and stepped in- no, not <em>silent<em>, for those were definitely the snores of the Prospect drifting heavily through the air. He didn't blame the kid for wanting to get some sleep, however, when the sole purpose of his being at Mattie's was to keep her safe in case something went down, well, the Prospect deserved the slap across his temples. A rough wakeup call maybe, but necessary. Probably not the worst way Half-Sack had been woken up in his months of prospect-hood though, judging by the indifferent reaction as the blonde swung up and off the couch.

"Go back to the club. I got it from here. Keep your phone on, though, idiot. Might call you in early." Tig said, not quite as threatening as he meant to, but managing to get his point across.

"Sure thing. Tell Matt I said thanks for all the hospitality." Sack raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "See ya tomorrow."

"Get out before I kick your ass."

That's what it took to hear the fairly quiet click as the door slid shut, although the rumble of an engine pulling out of the driveway punctuated it. Mattie's neighbors were either complacent about all the noise, or way too timid to complain. Most likely the latter, Tig thought, climbing up the stairs.

Somehow, in the course of one fucking day, the Sons of Anarchy were turned upside down, his girl had gotten arrested, and her uncle had been saddled with a murder charge. Oh, and one of their own might've been the reason Bobby Munson's address had been changed to Stockton Prison. That burnt the worst.

Opie Winston was not the sort of man to rat on the club, the one he'd been raised in, the one that he'd been part of since the moment he turned eighteen. Opie Winston, his brother, Opie Winston, Mattie's best friend. For it was in Opie that Tig saw parts of her, more so than Jax. Ope and Mattie had the same sort of gentleness, empathy, and need to protect their own. Matt and Jackson were associated more closely because Gemma had raised her- but damn it, if it wasn't Opie that was there to catch Mattie every time she fell. He was stronger than Jax, more levelheaded. Did five years for SAMCRO without a blink.

A guy like that wouldn't rat.

But he had. And soon, Mattie would find out, and her heart would be broken. Tig didn't know what do about that, whether it was better to subtly warn her now and get it over with, or let the drama play itself out. She'd get hurt no matter what. Because Tigger would be the one to deal with the punishment, he'd be the Son to pull the trigger and get revenge for the club. Would Mattie understand that? Would she look at him the same way, with that little sparkle in her hazel eyes? For eleven fucking years, that twinkle had been reserved for just him, and Tig didn't know if that would change if he killed her best friend.

Mattie, however, was not some delicate little flower, and handled far more than anybody ever gave her credit for. Shit, she'd dealt with his ass for how goddamn long? Deserved a fucking medal, really. But he'd never been responsible for a death so close to Mattie before. She'd lost people- hell, at twenty-eight, she was practically an orphan- but damn it, Tig didn't know. It was all too personal, too uncomfortable, and worst of all, unspeakable. Because as much as Tig wanted- and in some ways, needed- to tell Mattie about Opie's betrayal, he couldn't. No ripping the band aid off the emotional wound, because it was club business. Private club business.

Mattie was part of SAMCRO, in her own way, but shit, Tig didn't think it was appropriate to tell her that the club was festering from the inside out.

Her bedroom was dark when he walked in, his limbs burning with exhaustion, brain buzzing with uneasiness. Tig half-expected Mattie to be curled up inside the covers, but a glance at the clock- a quarter after midnight- proclaimed that it was far too early for that. And the soft glow coming from the bathroom door answered his question about her whereabouts- Mattie had made the mistake of going when he told her to stay once before, and that'd ended in a man's death.

Not that the asshole didn't have it coming anyway.

Steam greeted Tigger when he entered the bathroom without knocking, the sharp increase in temperature causing a single bead of sweat to drip down his forehead. He forgot about that quickly though, because there were many other pressing matters to mull over.

Especially the naked woman in the bathtub.

Mattie quirked her eyebrow at him, a ghost of a grin gracing her full lips. Whether she was simply amused by his stare or glad to have him home, Tig didn't know. Didn't care either, since most of the bubbles in the bathwater had already melted, Mattie's body only censored by a pair of crossed legs and a book held strategically in front of her chest. If she moved that novel a little lower or maybe to the side, well… Tigger had been thinking about fulfilling Matt's wish for birthday sex since the moment he'd woken at the club that morning, and an unrestricted view of that lithe body would only make the fantasies swirl at an overwhelming pace.

"Hey handsome, you're back early," She chimed easily, that grin growing into an all out smile. "Sack said not to expect you."

"And abandon my girl on her birthday? Never." Tig replied, sitting on the edge of the tub. "Although I think you might've gotten the best gift of all from Agent Stahl. Ain't everyday a girl gets to spend her twenty-eighth at Charming PD. Bet Hale had a hard-on from the moment you got brought in."

Mattie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'll have to remember to send her a thank you card."

"Maybe one of those that plays a song when you open the front cover. I'm sure the bitch would treasure it."

"Definitely." She pointed towards the vanity then, a pale finger extended in the warm air, "Pass me that towel, will you?"

Tig looked towards the mess on the granite-topped counter- for a small house, it had all the fixings- a fluffy lavender towel, a black cotton thong and a man's navy blue button down. _His _shirt. How she'd managed to thieve it without his noticing, he didn't know, and didn't exactly mind either. Wasn't a lot sexier than seeing his girl wearing his clothing, the dark fabric stopping mid-thigh, buttoned low enough that he could make out her cleavage, knowing that there were no shorts and no bra underneath. Easy to take off, too.

"I ever tell you that you got beautiful tits?" Tig asked, holding the purple towel just out of her grasp.

"Tigger." Mattie heaved out in a sigh, though the smile had not left her lips.

He didn't compliment her often, and didn't really need to- Mattie knew exactly how he felt about her without him spouting it out all the time. That's what he loved about his girl, she knew how to read his moods, knew how to identify his mental state with a single glance, and never pried further than she needed to. Probably could tell that Tig was all cagey with all that was going on in the club, and he hadn't needed to say anything.

The only bad thing about Mattie's almost psychic-like ability to read people- or read _him_, specifically- was that it was excruciatingly hard to hide things from her. Like the fact that Opie might be a rat. She would never ask, not directly at least, but Tig could always see the questions churning, just behind her teeth and tongue, caught up in Mattie's innate tendency to stay silent. The girl was like her father that way- quiet, thinking before she spoke, never talking out of turn. Add a dash of Bobby's propensity for mediation, and well, it was easy to spot the influence of the men that raised Mattie. Tig wondered if he could say the same of his own children. Probably not, since he hadn't spent more than a weekend at time with them since they were very young. Dawn and Fawn were mostly Colleen with a dash of Tig, and if you asked his ex-wife, she'd most likely declare that to be far too much.

"If you hand me the towel, I'll show you something." When he didn't react right away, she added, "Just in the off chance that you're worried that I'm too tired for some mind blowing, can't walk the next day birthday sex, you're sadly mistaken. I need to dry off a bit first."

"That's what I like to hear."

"I figured. Now the question is," Mattie purposely flicked her hazel fuck-me eyes up to him, "Can you keep up with me, Trager?"

"Ain't nearly as old and broke down as the Prince makes me out to be." Tig flexed a bicep for effect, hoping to illicit a laugh. Instead he was met with a frown.

"I tell you I want to fuck you, and you decide to bring up Jax? That's a bold move, Tigger. Blondes turn you on?"

He liked when Mattie got a little feisty and playful, an aspect of her personality that she normally hid under all those layers of self-possession. More so than the joking, Tig liked what it all meant- she trusted him to see her veiled goofiness. Trust was not a card that Mattie handed out either easily or willfully, but he'd earned it more than a decade ago, and though he sometimes briefly misplaced it, it was never truly lost.

"Sometimes. But now? All I can think about is a curly-haired, curvy brunette with killer fucking curves and legs that I am just dying to wrap around my waist. Answer your question?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. Emphasis on the fucking."

"I thought you were supposed to be all quiet and demure," Tig teased, wrapping the towel around her shoulders as she stepped out of the bath, barely letting his fingertips glide over moist, glimmering skin. "Next thing I know, you'll be breaking out whips and goddamn chains. Not that I'd complain, in case you're wondering."

"Babe, I got arrested today. And that whole bag of weed Juice gave me got confiscated and put into evidence. To say that I need some stress release is putting it mildly."

"Glad to be of service." Tig watched with disappointment as Mattie swung the terrycloth around her body, cutting off his view of all that naked flesh. "Now, what did you need to show me?"

Mattie smirked devilishly. "Go into the bedroom. I'll be out in just a second. Gotta do something real quick, okay?"

"If it involves putting clothes on-"

"It may. But I promise that you'll like it. And besides, who doesn't like a little show?"

Tigger shook his head like he was irritated; but honestly, he was pretty intrigued by whatever Mattie had planned. Surprises- good surprises, not Opie-type surprises- were something that he enjoyed.

But it was _her _birthday. Wasn't he supposed to be the one giving gifts?

Although, Tig thought with a barely contained smile as he sat on her rumpled bed, there were plenty of presents he could offer between the sheets.

And the ones he still had back the club, forgotten in the mess of betrayal and murder charges.

* * *

><p>Mattie had not been planning to put her new lingerie to work so soon, but when the moment presents itself, sometimes you just have to go with it. And this was certainly some kind of sexually charged moment.<p>

Normally, Tig didn't care what Mattie wore to bed, since he usually had it deftly shucked to the floor within seconds. But this day in the middle of June called for something special, and the button down and thong she'd been planning to throw on just weren't going to cut the mustard. She wore ones of Tig's navy blue shirts- her favorite color on him, hands down- whenever she was sure he wasn't going to be around, and from Chibs' call that afternoon, she really thought Tig was going to spend the night at the club. Seeing him walk through the bathroom door was a pleasant surprise, mostly because she hardly expected to see that long, lean form until she tracked him down at TM.

Plus, Mattie wanted to celebrate one of the rare times when Tigger surprised her and it didn't end in either emotional distress or heartbreak.

Lathering up in expensive lotion she hardly used and spritzing some of her trademark perfume- the jasmine scent _was_ called Lust, after all- Mattie couldn't help but grin. Pomp and circumstance had never been a necessity in their relationship, considering that they'd spent the first six months of it pretending that there was no such relationship in the first place, but she'd had a fair amount of sexy little things that she was eager for Tig to see.

And as Mattie stepped out into the bedroom in a dark red lace babydoll with a silk bow tied beneath her bust, the whole outfit completed with matching panties, it was very clear from Tig's slightly stricken look that she'd have to break out lingerie on a much more regular basis. Tempted to tell him to scrape his jaw from the floor- there were certainly a lot of things about her body that made her uncomfortable, but around Tig, those cares always fell to the wayside- Mattie just sashayed over to his spot by the bed.

"Damn, baby. Damn." He murmured, shaking his head. "Happy fucking birthday, alright."

"Technically, it's been exactly a decade since the first time we slept together." Mattie gently unfastened the top few buttons on his shirt, allowing him a moment to consider what she'd just said. It hadn't felt like so much time had passed, but shit, ten years had come and gone since that night back when she was eighteen.

"Goddamn, that makes me feel old."

"You shouldn't feel old, you should feel-"

Tigger cut her off, pressing his lips tightly against hers, the sharp scruff of his chin and cheek catching her more off guard than his kiss. Then there were his hands, tugging at the soft material of the bow, the tie falling to her sides as it was undone. Her underwear being skillfully rolled down the crescents of her ass and discarded to the hardwood beneath her bare feet. The straps of the frilly babydoll pulled from her shoulders, though not completely tossed away. Just enough leeway to expose her breasts.

Mattie couldn't help moaning his name as Tig's mouth left hers and descended down to her tits, his tongue swirling expertly around a nipple as she fought to keep from shrieking in delight. Moby was just across the hall, after all, and even though he slept like a goddamn log, she wasn't going to take any chances. Well- if she could help it.

Which, as Tig gently bit her sensitive flesh, it was becoming very clear that Mattie couldn't. So she sunk her fingers into his hair, hoping that somehow the tangle there would stop the increasingly loud mutterings of excitement from escaping her lips.

Mattie pulled Tig's head back for a moment, catching a glimpse of those hungry baby blues. "Take your fucking clothes off," She breathlessly demanded, not caring if she sounded like an entitled little brat. Normally Tigger got to call the shots in bed, but tonight, when they were celebrating both her birthday and ten off-and-on years of an inexplicable relationship, Mattie thought she deserved a little bit of bossiness.

When he was down to just a pair of boxers, Mattie let the burgundy babydoll cascade and join the rest of the clothing on the ground, before joining him on the bed, shoving pillows and blankets aside. Tig anchored a callused palm on either side of her hips, still subtly controlling her movements, dominating Mattie in a quiet way that she would've found annoying in any other man. In Tigger though, well, she already knew that she was effortlessly receiving many privileges that other women in his bed didn't ever obtain- the ability to speak or even look at him, to decide how slowly or quickly things went, and maybe most of all, a sense that when the sex was over, she wouldn't be shoved out of the room and sent on her way.

Because a very long time ago, Tigger had silently established that Mattie was special. He never said those words or even acknowledged that they were true, but as he wound his arms around her after sex, she felt it. When he fought to keep her safe, she felt it. And when he started calling her house _home_, Mattie had pretty much been slapped in the head with the fact that no matter how many croweaters and sweetbutts sucked his dick or opened their legs for him, all his emotional ties were securely fastened to her. To most women, Tig's lack of fidelity was cheating, but to Mattie… It was far more complicated to explain. She wasn't an Old Lady, but she was _something_ to Tigger, something more than those club girls, and that was enough for Mattie.

"You know, I was skeptical when you said you had something to show me, but shit, sweetheart," Tig whispered into her ear, "Thought this was supposed to be your birthday, not mine."

Mattie smiled, and kneeled on the bed. "Wasn't all, Tigger."

She pointed to her right hip, to a patch of pale skin about the size of her fist. In fresh ink sat an archway, bright and realistic in rust-colored bricks. Underneath read seven letters, plain and simple, similar to the ones on the inside of her wrist. _Support_. A very understated nod and a wink to Tig- or at least the meaning of his last name. Wasn't quite as blunt as having _Tig_ printed across her flesh- she'd thought about it, but somehow the action felt desperate in a strange way- but the two of them would know exactly what it meant.

"When'd you get it?" Tig asked quietly, fingertips dusting over the tattoo like he'd somehow scar her. It'd already healed, but his soft touch was somehow sweet just the same.

"Couple weeks ago. Remember when I had the bandage on?"

"Yeah. But I didn't think… Shit, Matt. You know tats are permanent, right?" A phantom of a smile crossed his lips.

"I think I'm familiar with that fact, yes. And besides, I'm on your skin."

The _Til_ right by his heart, and if that wasn't a declaration of his feelings for her, well, Mattie didn't know how else Tig could say it. Aloud, of course, but that wasn't really his style.

And that was quite fine with her.

"Yeah, yeah, you are." He shook his head, caught her gaze in a strangely serious way, "Whatever happens, don't go, okay? Stay here, with me."

Mattie wanted to ask questions, to run her hands down the sides of his lined face and ask what was the matter, but she brushed aside the urge to wrinkle her eyebrows in suspicion and just nodded.

"Promise, Matt. You gotta promise, that no matter what sort of fucked up shit happens with the club, with life in general, that Charming is forever. Promise me, girl."

"It is. I'm not going anywhere, Tigger." Mattie pointed to her tattoo, "Support goes two ways. We lean on each other."

Her hackles were raised- something was going down in regards to the Sons, something he couldn't tell her, at least not outright- but she could tell that his head was in a strange, sensitive place. For now at least, Mattie wouldn't risk trying to figure out what was happening, not until the turmoil of the club touched her life personally. Book had taught her that- if it isn't your business, don't ask, but when it fucks with you, you better demand some goddamn answers. Woman or not, child or not, Book never held back with her. Honesty between father and daughter was something that neither took for granted.

Except when it came to Tig.

Tig never answered her, just kissed her again, long and hard, before snaking a hand between her legs, teasing her with the tips of his fingers. He always did that, played little games before getting to the real action, whispered dirty phrases into her skin, anything he could do to force a moan from Mattie. And as he finally dipped a finger firmly inside her, she did just that. His name, mumbled in a guttural way, _T-i-g_ parted so slowly that the three letters turned into some unearthly sound. But Tigger loved it.

Just as Mattie loved the slow thrust of his index finger, his other hand easily cupping a breast, roughly twisting a nipple because Tig equated pain with pleasure- and in certain cases, this one in particular, so did she.

Feeling like Tigger was being a little left out of the fun, Mattie sunk her hand underneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping her piano-honed fingers around his dick, enjoying the hiss of satisfaction when she ran her palm up and down his length a few times. Her fingers could just barely wrap around him- a fact that Tig frequently bragged about- the appendage in her hand just one of the reasons the croweaters always flocked to her man.

"Bad girl," Tig bit out into the crook of her neck, before gently removing her hand from the inside of his boxers. "Happy birthday, Matt."

His head bobbed lower and lower, lips trailing across her skin, their softness contrasting with the insistent but pleasant scrape of his facial hair. Tig kissed her one last time, right below her navel, giving Mattie a wicked grin, then sunk his mouth into the wet cleft between her legs.

Tig had made it very clear a very long time ago- Matt was the only woman he ever went down on and if she decided to tell anybody about it, well, he was very comfortable reducing that number to zero. And, in true Mattie fashion, she'd kept her mouth shut because honestly-

Christ, she couldn't even think when he swirled his tongue around her clit, careful to never touch the little button, not until he was ready. Mattie was already dissolving into soft whimpers of pleasure, her voice only getting louder and louder as Tig got closer and closer. Sheets balled up in her fists, toes curled, back arched so much that it was faintly uncomfortable, Tig was cultivating a sensitive yet body-shattering orgasm that Mattie was sure would come at any second.

And come it did. Mattie's flesh lit on fire, every muscle ached to leap out of her skin. The sound coming out of her mouth wasn't even human, it was distorted and ear splitting, so foreign from her own voice, her quiet nature that she could hear Tig laughing as he brought his face upwards, blue eyes crinkled in what Mattie, in her climax-addled brain, thought was a cross between amusement and delight.

She bent to take her turn between his legs, as Tig fell back on the mattress, his tanned skin flushed with sweat, but he placed a single finger beneath her chin.

"Nope. Your birthday. I'll get mine next time." Tigger smiled. "You're on top, sweetheart."

Mattie returned his grin, knowing that he didn't brush off a blowjob or give up dominance easily. Swinging a leg over his waist, saddling next to his hardness, she waited for his callused hands to rest on her hips, fingers sinking into flesh. Not too harshly- sometimes, in their rougher, devil-may-care romps, Mattie woke up with fingerprint sized bruises, but Tig was being careful tonight. Which wasn't too say that he meant to hurt her, just that their combined overzealousness sometimes led to unintentional results.

She pushed him inside her, both of them groaning as Tig slid into her wetness, waiting for her walls to adjust to her size. He was never forceful in this stage, always slightly tentative- once, when she was much younger, he'd decided to use some lube that left a very conspicuous, hard to explain mess in her bed in her freshman dorm- as though rushing it would somehow scar Mattie, either physically or emotionally. But as Mattie bucked herself downward, that hesitancy faded from his eyes, replaced with pure, animal lust.

Riding him was an experience that Mattie always felt the next day, mostly contributing to an inability to walk normally, but she never regretted the strain. The delicious friction that she got to control, the roll of her hips as she rocked against Tig's thrusts, the sound of her name pouring from his lips between strings of cussing. His palms attempting to guide her movements. The single bead of sweat that rolled down Mattie's forehead. She focused on everything and nothing at all as growing ripples of pleasure rippled down her body.

Mattie leaned forward, bracing her hands on the bed, briefly tangling her lips with Tig's just before he pulled away and uttered a strained groan that vaguely sounded like her name, before a final deep thrust that sent her spiraling over the edge. Their voices, knotted and garbled together, creating a symphony of climatic noises that neither could control.

It didn't matter, though. All that mattered was that Mattie was spending a piece of her birthday with the man that she'd first slept with exactly ten years ago, and he still know how to touch her and tease her, how to make her come so hard that she could hardly see or think straight afterwards. Their relationship didn't make sense, and it wasn't easy, but damn it, Mattie loved Tigger. For a whole fucking decade she'd loved him, and no matter what, no matter what shit was going down with the club, no matter how many croweaters he went through, she wasn't going to stop any time soon.

As Mattie collapsed onto the mattress, completely spent, Tig's arm circled her shoulders, pulling her close. He might not ever speak the words, but she knew he felt the same way. Because no other woman ever got that sort of treatment, got to see the vulnerability that most people swore Tig didn't have. Mattie knew better of course, but she didn't speak of it. It was hers to have and to hold, to keep safe from the rest of the world.

To her, that was love.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, I know it's been forever. But when I reread this chapter, I decided that something was missing and wrote the last two POVs to add to it. Plus, since I'm pretty much a smut-virgin, it takes me forever to write. The next chapters shouldn't need much added to them, so hopefully I can post the next one within a couple days. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**

**PS- Totally tried to post this last night but was being a real jerk! Sorry for the super delay. :(**


	24. Chapter 24

_It's the end of the world as we know it_

_It's the end of the world as we know it_

_It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine_

_It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) – R.E.M._

* * *

><p>Donna smiled. Mattie's gift for Abel was so typical of her best friend that she actually wanted to laugh, but at the same time, didn't want to offend her either. Since she'd made the decision to stick by her husband and her kids, to stick by the club, life had been so much simpler. Agent Stahl thought that she'd bring the Winston marriage tumbling down, but all she did was make it stronger. Stupid bitch. Nobody got to tell Donna what was right for <em>her<em> family, and certainly not a fed. Trying to make it look like Opie ratted on the MC… Donna wondered if Mattie knew. But judging by how laid back the woman fumbling with a roll of rubber ducky printed wrapping paper was, Donna didn't think she did.

But then again, Mattie was always good at hiding things.

"You know, Jax will probably end up killing you. Or take the batteries out." Donna teased, and was met with a quick upward flicker of hazel eyes.

"I'm trying to culture an early love of music in his son. Gotta lay down some foundations if I'm going to turn Abel into a musical prodigy."

Mattie had gotten Jax's son one of those Fisher-Price baby pianos, with five brightly colored keys that made loud noises whenever they were pressed. She also had a brown Build-a-Bear wearing a leather vest, although Mattie said that gift was actually from the Prospect who'd grown too embarrassed to offer it himself. It seemed like while Donna was spending that time putting distance between herself and the club, her best friend had only moved closer. She always needed somebody to take care of, Donna supposed, watching Mattie perfectly wrap her present.

"We got him some cute little onesies. Which don't make noise." Donna said, sitting on the edge of Mattie's bed.

She'd wanted to spend the afternoon with Opie while the kids were with Mary, but he'd had to take care of some things for the club, so she headed over to Mattie's instead. Moby was spending the day with his freshly clean dad, so Matt said she didn't mind the company. Absently, Donna wondered when Mattie was going to have a couple kids of her own, and then suddenly remembered the man that she'd stubbornly chosen- once again- was not really the fatherly type. Already had two children he didn't see, according to Opie. She didn't want her best friend to be a single mother. Not that Mattie couldn't handle the challenge; just that Donna knew from experience that kids really needed both parents.

"How're things with the Asshole?" Donna's favorite unspoken nickname- well, only around Mattie. And Ope. Sometimes Jax, maybe. -for Tig. Wasn't like it was a fucking lie.

"They're… okay, I guess." Mattie admitted carefully, sticking a light blue bow on the corner of her gift.

"That sounds extremely promising." Donna sighed. "Spill it, Cardinal."

"It's not anything major. I just feel like he's been avoiding me." Mattie shrugged. "This morning, I was all ready to for a pre-breakfast quickie, but he turned me down. Flat out. No excuses, no oh-I-have-to-take-care-of-club-stuff, just a maybe later. Does that sound like Tigger to you?"

According to Opie's stories, no. "I guess not. But come on, Matt. Not like your sex life isn't prosperous."

"You don't want to hear about my sex life-"

"Sweetheart, even though your bedroom after ten PM has become a story straight outta _Penthouse_, I'm pretty sure I can stomach the gory details. I would tell you about the last 'pre-breakfast quickie' Opie and I had, but I promise you, it was probably before Ellie was born."

"If you'd let me finish my sentence, I was going to say that you don't want to hear about my sex life with _Tig_." Mattie shook her head, tossing the curls resting on her shoulders. "Or the Asshole, if you'd prefer."

"The Asshole, the Psychopath, the Statutory Rapist, the Man-Whore of Charming, California…"

Donna couldn't pretend to understand anything about her best friend's relationship, but Tig's issues with fidelity and how it _didn't _affect their bond, well, that was pretty fucking baffling. If Opie ever cheated on her, she'd chop his goddamned dick off. But it was like life had dealt her the most loyal man in the world and gave Mattie the least. At twenty-eight, how could Matt still be making the same mistakes? Ten years later, and she still let the Asshole jerk her around.

Though, Donna had to admit that lately, despite what Mattie just told her, Tig had been oddly affectionate. Treated her more like the woman he loved and less like a slave to both him and the Sons of Anarchy. Opie agreed with her, but told Donna to leave well enough alone. Ope and Mattie were a lot alike that way- confrontation was off-limits unless absolutely necessary. Didn't butt their heads into other people's business either- even their best friend's, as Opie had warned a few nights ago, when Donna tried to bring up the subject. But didn't her husband see that all Donna wanted to do was make sure Mattie's heart didn't get broken? Didn't he see that there was nothing sadder than an inconsolable twenty-eight year old woman whose Asshole just destroyed her for the thousandth time?

Thing was, there weren't a lot of other eligible bachelors in Charming, California.

"I've told you a million times, I was eighteen the first time we had sex. So you can strike statutory rape from the record." Mattie said finally, her tone a bit tense.

"And I've told you a million times, I don't believe you."

"_Donna_." Mattie had learned that warning tone from Gemma, and it never ceased to make her shiver.

"Okay, okay. No more." She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure things will work themselves out with the Asshole, and if they don't, hey, there's always David Hale."

"Fuck you too, Donna Winston." Mattie retorted good-naturedly. "You know, he asked me what would've happened if we never broke up when I was sixteen? I wanted to shake him and ask, what do you think would've happened? We were _children_."

The distinction between her sixteen-year-old romance with Hale and her seventeen-year-old… thing… with the Asshole never made any sense to Donna. But she'd learned to stop trying to make that point a long time ago. Because she knew the answer would just be circular and full of avoidance.

"I guess. Opie and I were young though, and we're still married."

"Yeah, but Opie has been thirty years old since he was seven, and you kick ass and take names." Donna grinned at the compliment.

"Thanks, buddy." She looked at Mattie's alarm clock. "We're gonna be late for the party, Martha Stewart. I think your gift is sufficiently wrapped."

Mattie childishly stuck her tongue out before motioning to her closet. "I'm going to change into something Gemma would consider Charming-appropriate, so you can go ahead without me."

Donna tried her best not to laugh. Jax said something about his mother giving Mattie shit about the way she dressed. For Donna, yeah, it was a little too Fifth Avenue, but she couldn't lie about being jealous of her best friend's wardrobe. She'd walked through that too-grand walk-in closet on the way to the master bathroom plenty of times, marveling at all the things that probably cost more than her mortgage payments. If Donna and Mattie were the same size- Donna being both shorter and thinner that Mattie- there were plenty of outfits she had her eye on…

Why, oh why, would Mattie leave the man that bought all those fabulous yet frivolous clothes for the man who had probably spent more on his bike than he ever did on her?

"Go ahead. The Queen will probably have you in the kitchen, so make sure you're comfortable." Donna replied in an overtly motherly tone.

As she headed out to her car, Donna noticed the quickly scribbled note left on the kitchen table, also where she'd tossed her purse and keys on the way in. It was neither Mattie's neat printing or Moby's wild scrawl, and when she deciphered the short signature at the bottom, well, that made the little letter that much more interesting.

_Hey Birdie, _

_ See ya at Jax's later, have to take care of a few things. Sorry for this morning- had to run. Take ya up on your offer later. _

_ -T_

Donna didn't want to admit it, but that note made her hate the Asshole just a little bit less.

But honestly, he couldn't even sign it _love, Tig_? Talk about emotionally fucked up…

Mary was just dropping Kenny and Ellie at Jax's house when Donna pulled up, able to snag a pretty good parking spot. Opie's mother had been less irritable lately, and like she told her husband, Donna was sure that she was just waiting until Opie stopped to talk to her. Mary Winston had tried to take Opie away from his violent life when he was sixteen, because she knew that her son would end up a member of the Sons, just like his father. Why she waited so long, well, Donna didn't know. At least Ellie and Kenny were still young enough to make the transition when she wanted to get the hell out of Charming. Before getting trapped at the Department of Justice in Stockton and realizing how much Opie needed both his family and his club.

Donna fell in love with Opie the moment his mother dragged him away all those years ago. She was fifteen and she knew that he was the man she was going to marry, but realized it too late. Mary had made it very clear that she was never coming back to Piney, never going to set foot in Charming ever again. The quick, seemingly endless loss of Opie- who Donna had never thought of as anything more than her friend- drove her crazy. Made her lovesick. And when Donna told Mattie about her feelings, her best friend just smiled knowingly. _So, you finally figured it out, Lerner? Took you long enough._ She could still hear those words, hear the cadence of Mattie's phrase and see the way her eyes just lit up.

Opie knocked on Donna's door in the middle of one March night, two weeks after she'd come to the miserable conclusion that he was gone forever, it just felt like a goddamn miracle. She was never going to let that man, her soul mate, out of her life ever again.

She'd survived that two-week absence, and she'd survived the five years he was inside. When Donna Winston made a promise, even to herself, she kept it.

Luann Delaney greeted her and the kids when they descended through the front door, cooing over how tall Ellie had gotten since they last time she'd seen her. Donna had a feeling that Ellie was going to take after her father, and unfortunately for him, it looked like Kenny had inherited the Lerner 'short' gene. All the men on her side of the family didn't make it much past five foot six, though Donna was sure that Kenny was hoping the Winston genetics would somehow counteract it.

Once the kids were occupied by their grandfather- who was less drunk and more jovial for a change- Donna checked in the kitchen to see what Gemma needed. Didn't look like a lot of the club girls were helping out, probably since it was more of a family get-together than a MC gathering. Even though the croweaters weren't her favorite, Donna would rather that they act as the Queen's servants for the night.

"Matt here?" Gemma asked, after giving her a stiff I-don't-quite-know-where-we-stand hug.

"Not yet. Should be just a few minutes."

The Queen opened her mouth to no doubt comment on Mattie's lateness- even though the informal word-of-mouth invitation's start time had been _hey, whenever you wanna come by_- before uttering a very simple, "Jesus motherfucking Christ."

It looked like the Asshole had arrived, thought the girl under his arm was definitely not Mattie. One of the perkier croweaters-ugh, looked like a few might make to the party after all- looking smug.

Jesus motherfucking Christ was right.

Within seconds, Donna was livid. It was one thing for Tig to trick Mattie into believing that he was still in love with her, it was another to make a fool out of her in front of all loved ones. And that tight, expressionless smirk he wore made Donna want to slug him right across the mouth, crush his too-blue eyes with her fists, wring his fucking neck- shit, was she pissed. When they were younger, Mattie might've had the reputation for fighting, but wasn't like Donna didn't know a thing or two.

"Don't." Gemma said softly, putting a hand on her arm. "For now, just let it alone."

Donna bit the insides of her cheeks hard, borrowing a classic Mattie move, which she used whenever she was too angry to control her words. "She's my best friend."

"Mattie can handle her own shit. You know that."

That was true, but at a certain point, enough was enough. Donna didn't have Mattie's eternal tolerance for pain. She couldn't watch her best friend get tortured by the Asshole for very much longer, not without protesting, at least. Nobody ever called Tig out for his bad behavior, probably because he was a loose cannon, but…

Donna needed to stop thinking about it. Not when there wasn't much she could do about it, not immediately, at least.

She shook her head and turned on her heel, stalking back into the living room, where Ellie and Kenny were sitting on the floor in front of Piney's armchair, both of them listening avidly as he told them a story about four kids named 'Dopie,' 'Jack,' 'Tilda,' and 'Lonna' and the trouble they'd gotten into. Donna instantly felt a little bit of rage loosen from between her shoulder blades, both from the presence of her children and the bit of nostalgia.

When they were younger, Jax was the wildest, Mattie coming in at a close, second. Joyrides, trespassing, underage drinking- if there was something illegal they could do, oh, it was done. And usually, they weren't caught. That was probably more Matt's doing than Jax's, since even though she had an eye for trouble, she was the best at getting out of it. Probably why she had such a mild reputation at school, compared to Jax and Opie, since the bulk of the boys' misdeeds usually occurred between the hours of eight and three, Monday through Friday.

Although, since she was a 'biker kid,' as all the SAMCRO babies were called throughout their schooling, Mattie was also a slut, a white trash moron and a lunatic. Not that any of it was true, but the 'outsiders'- as the SAMCRO babies referred to their classmates- didn't care much for making sure their rumors were fact-checked.

Her favorites had always been the outrageous ones- like that Jax, Tara and Mattie had secret threesomes during free period. Ha! Tara and Mattie hardly spoke, so that went to show how much the school really knew about those 'biker kids.'

Chibs, Juice, and the Prospect walked in the door then, raucously calling attention to their presence. Donna remembered the little showdown that the Asshole had with Chibs at Piney's party, and still wondered what exactly had gone on between the two men. Opie told her that it was just boys being boys, trying to prove something to one other, but she wasn't so sure. The way that the Asshole dipped Mattie in that grand kiss afterwards, how they got all tangled up in one another… The two incidents were related. No doubt about it.

Plus, the few times she'd seen Mattie at the club; she was usually with the Scot. Laughing and joking, Chibs always finding an excuse to touch her, pull her a little closer. Now… that was the kind of thing Donna could get behind. He was no Prince Charming, but hell, if he was going to treat her best friend with more respect than the Asshole- not that it was really very difficult, but anyway- she would fully advocate that relationship. Donna wasn't Gemma, she wasn't the sort of woman that meddled, but she would do anything to keep Mattie's heart from being broken. Donna couldn't risk losing her to New York again. She needed her partner in crime. Speaking of…

Mattie entered the Teller-Morrow house, looking completely different from then when Donna last saw her twenty minutes ago. Gone was the pretty ruffled lilac blouse, replaced by a low cut charcoal grey tank top that highlighted the swell of cleavage that Mattie always tried to hide. Coupled with tight jeans that might as well have been painted on and bright red pumps, Donna was convinced it was the perfect outfit to make the Asshole jealous. Bet he was sorta pissed that he'd chosen to take that used-up and made-up croweater instead of bright, sweet Mattie.

Plus, at least Mattie's tits were real unlike the 'beauty' sitting at Tig's side… Donna grinned, despite the dark look that crossed Mattie's face as she nonchalantly glanced towards the Asshole and his whore. Once Mattie returned Donna's small smile, she could tell that whatever disappointment Mattie initially experienced had already run its course, replaced by an acceptance that Donna would never, ever understand. Why was his behavior acceptable? Wasn't Mattie angry? Depressed?

Then Donna remembered that she was dealing with a woman who battened down her emotions at the first sign of trouble.

"Long time, no see." Mattie pressed a kiss into Donna's cheek, before turning her away from Tig, allowing his blue eyes to travel all over her back- or more likely, her ass. "Don't say anything. It's fine. I kind of expected it, to be honest."

Her best friend's tone was cool, but Donna knew that she was more upset than she was letting on. Mattie's hands were fidgeting with her belt loops, nervously pulling at the denim. Donna, more furious with the Asshole than she'd been five minutes ago, pulled Mattie's anxious fingers away. Pleased with the smallest gaze of irritation that Mattie sent her way- anything was better than whatever the Asshole was putting her through- Donna tugged Mattie's tank top down just enough to reveal the smallest scoop of hot pink lace. Yeah, the Asshole would notice that.

Now, all Donna had to do was point Mattie towards Chibs.

"What are you doing?" Mattie swatted Donna away. "Where are my godchildren?"

"You're going to see my kids dressed like that?" She raised a teasing eyebrow.

"I'm more dressed than some of the women in this room."

"Plus, their outfits cost as much as what, one of your heels?"

"That's not fair." Mattie crossed her arms over her chest. "And before you say it again, yes, I know that I should get rid of some of the stuff Patrick gave to me. It makes me feel guilty keeping it."

"Yeah, well, before you haul it all down to the Salvation Army, let me take a trip through your closet full of presents from your kinda-sorta husband." Donna said with a half-smile, genially elbowing her friend in the side. "And you shouldn't feel guilty. I'm just kidding with you."

"I know." Matt gestured towards the kitchen, "The one small miracle is that we're not trapped in food prep hell, at least."

"Definitely. Wonder how we got off so easy?" Donna asked, although Mattie didn't have much time to consider that, as Half-Sack wandered over to join their conversation.

Donna didn't know what to make of the disheveled blonde, not just yet. Opie seemed to think that he was an idiot, but Mattie didn't make that same assumption. She figured it had something to with George, who Mattie hardly ever saw. Guilt makes you do strange things, as Donna's mother always said. Like taking the latest Prospect under your wing.

"Hey. Did you bring… the thing?" Half-Sack mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. Yeah, because that made the straw-colored locks look so much more presentable.

"Yeah. She knows about the bear. No need to be sneaky." Mattie nodded over at Donna.

The kid seemed to be uncomfortable at seeing Mattie look like such a bombshell. Her New York wardrobe was smooth and proper, at least compared to some of the clothing worn by the club girls. Tonight Mattie was more sexed up than usual, showing skin that wasn't normally visible, but still not overexposed. Donna knew there Mattie's reluctance to show off her body had something to do with Reese, or rather, the way that Reese used to dress. She didn't talk about her mother often, but when she did, it was always with a certain kind of venom.

Donna's musings were distracted by the sudden glance that Half-Sack paid to Mattie's tits. What was all that about brotherly love?

"Thanks for keeping the secret." He managed a goofy grin before Gemma hollered for him to help her in the kitchen.

The night sped by then, everyone mingling, laughing and eating. Sharing stories and biding time until Jax returned from the hospital with his new baby boy. The mood in the house was jovial, excitement bubbling just underneath the surface, nearly erupting when Jax walked in the front door.

Who would've thought that a bunch of hard-assed bikers could get so animated about a baby?

Once Abel was settled, and everybody had done the requisite oohing and ahhing, Donna settled into a spot in Opie's arms, the two hanging around Piney and the kids. Things had quieted since Tara rushed out in a huff, and Jax, the proud papa, was making his way through the room with the baby, stopping every few feet to show him off.

When Abel was born, Donna wasn't so sure that Jax could quite handle fatherhood. Hell, it took Opie a couple weeks to adjust to the new role, and he wasn't nearly as wild as Jackson. But Jax seemed to be just fine. Content. Everybody was, actually. The Sons of Anarchy were always the most comfortable, the most laid back, when they celebrated family, with family.

For the first time in weeks, Donna loved her life. She loved her husband, her kids, her two best friends, and even the crazy family- which she hadn't even wanted in the first place- that came along with it all.

And she especially liked the dark look that had crossed Tig's face as Mattie and Chibs performed their quip-filled back-and-forth routine. Chibs hadn't been able to take his eyes off Matt all night, and that made a warm little pit in Donna's stomach. The Scot had feelings for her best friend. She could see it clear as day. From the way that he put a hand on the small of Mattie's back, or leaned into her whenever he laughed, Donna saw his attraction as clearly as Jax's love for Abel.

Better yet, Tig had been silent the whole evening, not speaking to anybody. As the night grew long, his mood fell fouler, snapping at anybody came near. Fuck him. When you make a mistake, you pay for it.

Donna's night had only gotten better. Her husband and her kids were happy, but she could tell by the way that Kenny's head kept falling forward that they were exhausted. The party wasn't close to ending, but she needed to take her babies home and put them to sleep. So her family made their rounds of farewells.

"I love you, baby girl." Donna said into Mattie's ear as she tightly embraced her. She normally never used Jax's nickname, but it somehow felt appropriate.

"I love you, too." Mattie retorted with a little laugh, "Come by the house tomorrow? Thought we could go to the market together in the afternoon. Easier without the kids, right?"

"Sounds good to me, Cardinal."

"Bye, Winston."

The split second decision to come back to help Gemma and the girls clean up left Donna smiling as she waited for the traffic light. They'd would be so surprised, and she knew that Gemma would be pleased. Once Donna decided to stop running away, the Queen's regular frost had melted exponentially. She'd found acceptance in the Sons of Anarchy, in their strange little world, and that wouldn't change any time soon.

Donna couldn't help thinking that no matter what shit came her way; it didn't matter so long as she had her family. Opie, Ellie and Kenny. Matt, Jax and Abel. Piney and Mary. And damn it, the Sons too.

For once, life was perfect.

It was the very last thought she had before everything went black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, I know this one was a little shorter than the past few, but I thought it should really stand alone. I haven't decided whether to make the next few chapters flashbacks or continue with the aftermath of Donna's death. Depends on how dark and twisty I feel, I guess. Anyway, thanks for reading and leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	25. Chapter 25

_Come on skinny love, just last the year_

_Pour a little salt, we were never here_

_My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my_

_Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer_

_I tell my love to wreck it all_

_Cut out all the ropes and let me fall_

_My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my_

_Right in this moment this order's tall_

_And I told you to be patient_

_And I told you to be fine_

_And I told you to be balanced_

_And I told you to be kind_

_And in the morning I'll be with you_

_But it will be a different kind_

_And I'll be holding all the tickets_

_And you'll be owning all the fines_

_Skinny Love – Bon Iver_

* * *

><p>That image, of Donna's bloody face staring into him, that was something he'd never forget. Her eyes were still open, her mouth parted in a tiny gasp of surprise, head resting almost peacefully against the steering wheel.<p>

Tig was a murderer. A guilty, good for nothing criminal without enough sense to get the job done right.

He couldn't pull up alongside the truck. Not after Opie saved his life that afternoon. Not after he saw the man playing with his kids, cuddling with wife. A wife that he'd never be able to speak to, to touch, to look at, ever again. Because of Tig. He'd never been ashamed of what he did for the club, of taking a life to save his brothers, but what happened that night saddled him with an emotional burden that he'd never felt before. Remorse hit him hard. It welled up in his chest until it felt like he was going to burst because of all the pressure.

How did one shed guilt anyway? Tigger never had to figure that out before.

Tig spent the whole night processing what he was going to do. Understanding that Opie needed to stop breathing if SAMCRO was going to survive. That's why he'd brought that croweater to Abel's party, because he couldn't see Mattie, couldn't talk to Mattie, knowing that he was planning to kill one of her closest friends. Something told Tig that if she smiled at him, or if he saw that mischievous little sparkle in her eyes, he'd lose the careful resolve he'd been cultivating since Clay told him to go through with the hit. Pushing Mattie away was the only way he could get in the right headspace.

Tig had never felt personally responsible for a death before. He didn't think about the act of taking a life, he just did it. It wasn't like he was an indiscriminate killing machine- if somebody deserved to die, they deserved to die. Tig let the reaper on his back guide him, let his mind melt away until the act was just muscle memory. A finger around a trigger. A hand holding a knife. Blaming Tigger for a murder was like blaming his Glock. Clay pointed him in the right direction and fired. Tig didn't have a choice. It was a man manipulating a man manipulating a gun. He was just a link in the chain of events.

Tig didn't accidentally kill Donna. An automatic weapon accidentally killed her. Fear accidentally killed her. Last second choices, made by several parties, accidentally killed her.

Except Tig couldn't convince himself that any of that was actually true. It was his fault, and somehow, some way, he was going to have to own up to it.

He never had any ethical responsibilities before. There was just life and death, and to ability to choose one over the other so that the result suited him. Suited the club.

And now, Donna was dead. Might as well've killed Opie, too. Fucking guy was moaning and bawling, cradling his wife's broken head, chest heaving while they all watched. There was nothing that his brothers could do. No words to say. Actions had been set in motion that couldn't be taken back, actions that Tigger had committed. He killed an innocent woman because some cunt of an ATF agent had the Sons convinced that Opie was a rat. It was all orchestrated, the wool pulled perfectly over their eyes to see exactly what Stahl wanted them to see.

Tig had been fooled. Clay had been fooled. That fucking blonde bitch pulled the strings and the Sons of Anarchy became her little puppets.

As miserable as he felt, there was also rage. So much fucking rage, and not just for Stahl. For himself. If he'd just pulled the car alongside the pickup truck, seen Donna, she'd still be alive. It would be Opie on the ground, and as fucked up as that would've been, it would've been better than this. It made sense. Killing Opie _made sense_. Tig prepared himself for it. He was ready to murder a brother. He was ready to murder one of Mattie's best friends.

Tig guessed he still did that, actually.

He'd been so fucking pissed at her during the party, how she lingered near Chibs the whole time, like a petulant goddamn child. Mattie let him touch her, let him run his fingers over her arms, let him keep her so close that their hips touched. She smiled and she laughed and she acted like Tig wasn't in the same state, let alone the same room. Didn't she understand that he was trying to protect her? Opie was practically part of Mattie. He was the more gentle of her two surrogate brothers, the one who could read her without words. But she would've understood. If Opie was actually the rat, Mattie would've understood. Tig had complete faith in that notion. Donna's death… if Mattie knew that it was him, that it was Tig that had pointed the gun through the back window like a goddamned coward, she'd never forgive him.

Never.

It'd break her fucking heart. The man she loved killing her best friend. He'd done some cruel shit to Mattie, but not like this.

Tig didn't expect to see her at the intersection, standing amongst all that yellow tape, pale skin shining in the too-bright moonlight. She didn't need to be there. She didn't need to see what he'd done. The pain he inadvertently caused.

He couldn't even fucking look at her anymore. It was all he could do all night, stare at her perfect tits and those tight jeans, wishing that he could throw Mattie against the wall and fuck her and teach her that she was _his_ no matter how many times Chibs made her laugh. He wanted to make her gasp his name, run her fingernails across his spine in desire. Now… Tig just needed her to go. Mattie couldn't be there.

Because she would know what he did. She'd know it was him because she always fucking knew.

Mattie just watched, with this strange little expression that Tig couldn't read- which scared the shit out of him. After ten years of their little tryst, she could no longer hide her emotions from him. But he didn't understand this one. It didn't translate, the wide stance of her hazel eyes, those coral lips pursed just the tiniest bit, the single wrinkle between her brows.

Mattie had gotten about five feet from her Mercedes and she stopped moving. There was a certain slackness in her body, as though she were no longer in control of her limbs. She was waiting for something.

She was waiting for him.

Tig couldn't. He just couldn't. The only thing he ever wanted to do was protect her, and he'd always failed miserably. And if you couldn't protect the woman you loved, what sort of a man were you? So Tig waited for somebody else to offer the comfort Mattie needed. Hale and Chibs were both present. It'd be one of them, Tig was sure of it. Hale still carried that ancient flame, and Tig was beginning to think that Chibs had it much worse than he let on.

But they didn't get the chance.

Half-Sack was the one crossing the pavement, reaching out to Mattie. The blonde tucked her tightly against his chest, purposely turning so that her back was to Donna. It was more merciful than anything that Tig was able to do. His capability for comfort had never been very high, but tonight… he was pretty sure that if Mattie came too close he'd completely sap whatever miniscule amount of energy she had left.

Always taking, taking, taking without ever giving anything back to her.

The Prospect had a hand pressed into Mattie's hair, his chin propped against her forehead. Before, Tig always thought that maybe the kid had a crush on her, a hopeless little bug that'd run through his system eventually, but now he understood. Mattie was kind to him, patient when everybody else was hurrying him along. She never called him an idiot, never commented on his intelligence, just gently guided him along. Like an older sister. And this embrace, along with the words that Half-Sack was whispering into her curls, it was just brotherly affection.

At least somebody could help Mattie. She'd never cry in front of the kid, but she'd let some of that well-armored façade fall away.

Mattie broke down in front of only one person. And he couldn't bear to look at her, and didn't think he'd be able for a very, very long time.

When they all headed back to the club, Tig didn't sit around and mope with the rest of them. He found a bottle of cheap scotch, walked back to his dorm and did his best to drown it all out.

Tig couldn't forget, but he'd sure as fuck try.

* * *

><p>The doorbell was ringing. A piece of Mattie had just been ripped out without warning or anesthetic, and somebody was ringing her doorbell. Rage fluttered against her temples for a moment, before the thick sludge of grief washed it away. It was too overwhelming of an emotion to be outdone so easily.<p>

Mattie didn't want to see anybody. She just wanted to be left alone until all the darkness was gone, until she could wrap her head around the fact that her best friend was dead. Donna was dead. It was impossible. Mattie just saw her at the party, just told Donna that she loved her… and now she simply didn't exist anymore. Shot, in the middle of Charming. It was a mistake. Donna didn't deserve to die because of somebody's _mistake_.

Donna had gotten Mattie through all of the hard times. She nursed her through every broken heart that Tig inflicted, held her hand when Book died, even talked Mattie through the decision to leave Patrick. Donna was one of those women who could survive whatever the world threw her way with dignity, always with her head held high and screwed on straight. Donna Winston was a fighter, and if she was on your side, you were lucky, and if she wasn't… well, you better watch yourself. She always had Mattie's back, no matter what, no matter who. And Mattie had hers; from the moment that boy kicked a ball into Donna's face back in elementary school.

Now, twenty years later, it was all over. There was nobody to tell her that she could do better than Tig, nobody to have a glass of wine with at the end of a long day. Nobody to call Mattie in the middle of the night asking if she could come over and help bake five dozen chocolate chip cookies for Ellie's girl scout bake sale. Mattie lost her only sister. She felt like her family was slowly but surely dwindling- Donna and Book gone, Bobby sitting in Stockton because of a murder charge. Who else would she lose?

Mattie was so caught up in her own misery that she couldn't do anything for Opie. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, so she just did nothing. He lost his wife, the mother of his children, and Mattie couldn't do anything but stand there. Christ, she could barely do that, Half-Sack had to prop her up to keep her knees from buckling. Eventually, Jax brushed by and told Mattie to go home, gently squeezing her hands. Mattie wanted to protest, but Sack was already pulling her towards her car, insistently tugging her away from the crime scene. She'd felt like if she'd stared at the carnage long enough, it would all start to make sense, like it would form some larger fucking picture that could justify Donna's murder. It hadn't. It just made the confusion worse.

Mattie wanted Tigger to be the one to swoop in and make everything better. She wanted his strong hands across her back, his whispered words against her earlobes. But he didn't even look at her. Just kept his attention pointed towards the ambulance. Mattie didn't know why he was still ignoring her, if it had something to do with the way they'd both acted at the party, but she didn't care. She _needed_ him. Fuck all the bitter, jealous bullshit. Mattie never asked for his affection, never demanded that he be faithful, but she thought she was entitled to some comfort after her best friend just got murdered. Apparently fucking not.

Her iPhone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, and Mattie wished that she'd turned it off. She knew that it was going to be whoever was on her doorstep. If it was Tig, it was too little, too late.

Hell, even Mattie knew that wasn't true.

When she finally fumbled across the bed and got the cell in her hands, the name across the screen made her stomach flop, and not in a good way. Didn't the Deputy Chief know when to give her some space?

"Hello?" Her voice was more gravelly than she anticipated, but she didn't bother clearing her throat. Maybe he'd take the hint and go away.

"Answer your goddamned door."

"I don't want your condolences. I just want to be left alone." But Mattie was already sitting up, the sudden movement causing a little bit of vertigo.

"And I don't give a shit. It's fucking important, Matilda. I need you to come downstairs and let me in."

Christ, it must've been important if he called her Matilda. She hadn't heard that from his lips- or honestly, anybody else's- in a very long time.

"Okay, if it has to be now, I guess I'll fucking be there in a second." Mattie mumbled, before hanging up and tossing the phone onto her mattress.

David was still wearing his uniform when she opened the door, but it seemed to have lost of some its usual crispness. The beige material was creased, and he'd even opened the top couple buttons of his shirt. It didn't undermine his authority, if anything, made him seem like a man unhinged. Like David had become much more dangerous since the last time they'd talked.

"What is it?" Mattie tentatively asked, waiting for him to sit. But he just paced across her floorboards, boots making a resolute knock whenever he took a step.

"We need to talk, Matt. And you need to listen to me for a change. Not just brush me off like you know best, because trust me, this time you don't."

"And you needed to stop by at three in the morning to talk?"

"Yeah, I did." David pointed into the dining room. "You're going to want to sit for what I have to tell you."

Mattie followed him in, sitting down at the center of the table, trying to place herself where there'd be an easy exit. She suddenly wished that she'd ignored his phone call and pretended to be asleep. Because, really, what was he going to say? That Charming wasn't safe anymore? Because Mattie already knew that, and she could fucking take care of herself. But as she opened her mouth to start the spiel, David had some choice words of his own.

"The bullets that killed Donna were meant for Opie."

No shit, Sherlock. "I figured, you know, gang retaliation and all."

"No. That's cover story for Clay's mistake."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mattie narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to say that _Clay _wanted to kill Opie?"

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything. I am telling you point blank that Clay Morrow ordered a kill on Opie Winston. And we both know that there is only one man he trusts enough to take care of a task like that."

"That's complete and utter bullshit."

"No, it isn't." A determined look crossed David's face. "Stahl set Opie up, made him look like the witness who fingered Bobby in that murder. Wrapped everything up in a neat little bow and Clay believed it. Can't have a rat in the MC, right? But the real witness is a tenant from the port commissioner's apartment complex, and her identity isn't being released until nine tomorrow morning."

It couldn't be true. David Hale trying to poison her mind, desperately trying to make her believe that she'd be safer with him instead of the MC. Especially after the conversation they had on the way home from the station, how he asked Mattie how things would've been if they'd never split. Tig would never kill Opie unless he was sure. Clay would never make that decision unless he had absolute proof. Brains before bullets. And Jax would never let anything happen to Opie unless it was completely necessary. Though Mattie couldn't deny that her blood had suddenly run cold.

"And how do you know all of this?"

"Because… Stahl kept me involved. I didn't think- I didn't know that Clay would actually believe her pack of lies. I thought he'd be able to see through her act." He sighed, and set his elbows on the table. "I'm a cop, Mattie. I have a duty to protect my town, and I thought I was by sitting on the information. But I messed up. And now an innocent woman is dead. Your friend is dead. And I am so, so sorry for what I did. But we both know who pulled the trigger."

Mattie couldn't breathe. Grief and fury swirled before her eyes, and she had no idea who to direct it towards. Because, honestly, she could almost believe David's story. There were too many truths for it to be a complete lie.

Chibs' frantic call on her birthday, asking where Donna was. Why he wouldn't tell Mattie why he wanted to know, how he kept sidestepping her questions. That was how Donna's disappearance was related to Bobby's arrest- if she and Opie were taken in for questioning, Stahl could've made it look like the family was heading into wit pro. And earlier, when Tig stalked out of the party… David was right. If Clay needed Opie taken out, Tig would be the one to do it. Mattie couldn't deny that fact.

But he wasn't sloppy. He would've seen that it was Donna in Opie's truck and turned right around, gone back to Clay. Christ, Tig would never shoot somebody through a back window. He took pride in his kills, in the lives he took for the club. If one of his brothers was a rat, Tig would want to look him in the eyes while he put the bullets in his brain. After all the years Mattie knew him, she'd come to understand the way he operated. Take a life to save a life. After all, her father lived the same mantra.

"Trager killed Donna, Matt. Your best friend. Those kids don't have a mom anymore because of him. A bad decision and couple of bullets and they're down a parent." David pressed. "Do you really think you're safe with him?"

Mattie stood up and gestured towards her front door. "Get out of my house, David, and the next time we speak, you better apologize. My best friend, the woman who I consider my fucking sister, dies, and you come into my home not even four hours later and try to blame it on Tig? You don't even have enough tact to wait until the morning?"

"Because the facts would really look so much different in the morning!" He shouted back. "You always treat Trager like some sort of hero! He treats you like shit, Mattie, he always has and he always will."

"And you always treat me like an absolute idiot! You're always telling me that what I'm doing is wrong and that you know better, but you don't, not at all. You feel guilty for what happened, for what Stahl did, and you think that by coming here and telling me whatever you think you know will make it easier."

"I know the truth. If you choose not to believe it, that really does make you an idiot."

Mattie slammed the door behind his retreating form. Fuck him. All she wanted was one night to wallow in her own self-pity and he couldn't even let her do that. Planting ideas in her head, trying to make her turn her back on the club, on her family. Did David forget that her father was one of them? Her uncle? Christ, she'd know Clay for all twenty-eight years of her life, and he'd never order a kill unless he was absolutely sure.

But as she laid in bed, the uneasiness wouldn't go away. What would she do if it was the truth? What would it mean for Mattie and Tigger? How could she forgive him for taking away somebody she loved? Fucking David Hale. His seeds were sprouting into questions she had no answers for, questions she could only ask one person.

Which was why she was wrenching the clubhouse door open at five in the morning. It was quiet, like the palpable gloom of the crime scene had traveled home with the Sons. Mattie suddenly regretted the impulsive decision to come asking questions. She shouldn't intrude upon their misery with her own. It wasn't fair to anybody. But she slowly strode through the main room, hoping that everyone would be either away or in their dorms.

It was only Chibs and Juice at the bar, passing a bottle of liquor back and forth. Mattie didn't want to disturb them, but Chibs had already turned around and motioned her over. She'd never seen him without his trademark grin, and the lines on his face seemed far deeper than they'd looked at the party. Well, she supposed that she probably didn't look that great either. Mattie was wearing clothes rumpled by sleep-or lack thereof- and she hadn't bother washing off the mascara that was probably tracked down her cheeks. Fuck it.

Chibs poured a shot and slid it over when Mattie approached the bar, the liquid sloshing over the rim as it glided along. It burned when she tossed it back. Definitely whiskey, cheap whiskey, but it did the trick. She stilled his hand when he went to pour another, though. Mattie needed what little she had left of her exhausted faculties to deal with Tigger.

"You know where my bastard went?" Mattie asked lightly, trying not to make a big deal.

"Tig? He's back in his room. Warn ya, prob'ly drunk as hell. Haven't seen 'im since we…" Chibs slurred, not bothering to finish his sentence. Pot calling the kettle black if she ever saw it. But if that's how he wanted to deal with the pain, she wouldn't say anything. If she was a better drunk- if she could have more than four drinks and not pass out- she'd go about it the same way.

"Thanks." Mattie replied, gently squeezing his wrist before heading back towards the dorms.

She was half-expecting Tig to be with that croweater from the party, fucking his grief away, so she knocked before working the key through the lock. He'd given it to her years upon years ago, but the door popped open without much fuss. Mattie stepped inside, slowly, just in case that slut was around, but silence greeted her.

Tig's dorm was pretty much as she remembered it, dark, the walls covered in naked women, and cold. Mattie asked once if his thermostat was broken, but he just told her told to shut up and be glad that he was breaking his no-cuddling rule. Now, she just huddled inside her t-shirt and looked around for a sign of life.

He wasn't inside his bathroom, although the mirror on the medicine cabinet had somehow gotten broken, the shards filling the sink. A tremor of anxiety lit her chest when Mattie saw the shattered reflections, the chaos reminding her how complicated life would become if Tig had something to do with Donna's murder.

The Sons of Anarchy would never be able to survive a hit like that. Opie could never be in the club with the man who killed his wife, and Jax would never let an injustice like that stand. The MC was already riddled with rifts and alliances, and whatever happened to Donna would only stand to widen and strengthen them. SAMCRO would get ripped to pieces in the process.

Mattie shouldn't have come. She should've let her emotional turmoil pass over, wait until the wounds were healed enough to ask questions that she didn't necessarily want the answers to. Shit. Still could leave, Mattie thought, dropping the piece of glass that she'd absentmindedly plucked from the sink. Nobody would notice, or pay a lot of attention.

"Baby?"

She turned to find Tig standing in the doorframe, long body occupying most of the space. He held a mostly empty bottle of scotch in his left hand, and the amount of liquid sloshing around giving her enough pause to once again reconsider her choice. Christ, he shouldn't be able to walk, let alone speak with that much alcohol in his system. And shitfaced Tigger was far more unpredictable than sober Tigger. Usually, drunkenness was accompanied with anger, with swinging fists, but not the sort of strange stillness waiting for her reply.

Christ, maybe David was right. Maybe she was looking at the man that killed Donna.

"I'm sorry. I just, I need-" Mattie didn't get to finish before Tig stalked across the floor and tugged her into his chest, his hands pressing her into his body so flush that she could barely fathom what he was doing.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Matt. So fucking sorry." His words were almost snarled, all cluttered by an emotion that she couldn't name right away. Whether it confirmed or denied her suspicions, she wasn't sure, all she knew was that his hands were trembling and his chest was racking and that Tigger, her tough-as-steel Tigger, was crying. Her already broken heart dropped into her stomach as he carried her back into the bedroom, as he collapsed onto his bed and took her with him.

"Sweetheart, I need to ask you a question." Mattie whispered, ghosting a hand through his hair. She wanted to wipe away his tears, but that sort of emotion from him was so rare that she didn't want to erase it just yet.

"No. Don't." It was too insistent, but she looked up into his red-rimmed blue eyes anyway. Tig didn't avert his gaze, but there was an odd skitter in the way his pupils bounced across her face.

"Did you kill Donna?" Just a whisper, the quietest question she'd ever uttered.

Tigger closed his eyes for an instant, before he sighed, "I don't know."

Mattie wanted to leave. She wanted an absolute denial, a rejection of all the things that David said, but Tig couldn't even muster enough energy to do that. Fuck. The man she loved murdered her best friend. There was no ignoring that. Tig killed Donna. And Mattie couldn't do anything but wallow in the realization that she was in the same bed as a killer. Those hands at her back had taken many lives, and yet, never one so close as the one lost only hours ago.

Tig clutched Mattie close and apologized again, over and over and over, until the words lost their meaning. Eventually, he pressed his face into her stomach, still mumbling into her skin. She'd never seen him react like this, never seen him express anything more than indifference to the act of taking a life. But this sort of remorse, the overwhelming guilt he felt, it scared her. Tig was her rock; he was the one who held _her_ while _she _cried. The role reversal left Mattie emotionally exhausted. She didn't know how to comfort him, not when she was still so miserable, not when she couldn't help but blame him.

But when he finally passed out and all she was left with were the voices in her own head, Mattie couldn't summon the same wrath she'd felt when she entered the clubhouse. Tigger might've pulled the trigger, but he didn't make the decision. He didn't scheme and plan and point fingers like Stahl. That cunt killed Mattie's best friend. Tig was still responsible, he was still a coward for not being able to look Opie in the eyes, but Mattie didn't have the fortitude to hate him.

She couldn't help but feel like it was some sort of betrayal to Donna's memory.

* * *

><p>Tig started his Harley, but readjusted his helmet before rolling down the driveway, as Opie headed to his pickup truck. Opie had the thing for a long time, since Piney buckled and gave him the thing when he turned sixteen. The cage had been toting the SAMCRO babies around for nearly fifteen years, and didn't show any signs of stopping. Tig supposed that was the one perk of using the garage as a front for the MC. Lots of opportunity for tune-ups.<p>

For the first time, he just wanted to get the kill over with. He wasn't looking forward to pulling the trigger, to looking his target in the eye, making him watch while Tig took his life. There was no sick thrill to this one. He wasn't fueled by rage or by that strange sort of righteousness that normally took over when Clay gave him an order. Tig was starting to question whether or not it was right to kill a man that saved his life only hours before. It was the first time he ever doubted what he was about to do. The naturalness, the innate ability to murder without thought or remorse had vanished sometime during the night. Opie was his brother. He was a rat. Which trumped the other? Days ago, Tig wouldn't have had such a hard time deciding, but every thought was tangled in another, all the voices in his brain arguing, yelling over each other. The din of sound was so overwhelming that he needed to refer to the neglected feelings in his chest for guidance. It didn't work very well.

Those feelings were closely tied to Mattie, his unspoken love for her. The same woman who'd been best friends with Opie practically since birth. Christ. This was going to kill Mattie. Not only was Opie a rat, but he was also going to die by Tig's hand. All Tig ever did was shake up Mattie's world, and never in a good way.

He was lucky that she was loyal. Although, it'd be a fucking miracle if she decided to stay in Charming after this.

Switching to the cage, Tig started to feel the weight of what he was about to do. He had the gun in his hands; the pickup truck was rolling down the street, everything in place. So, he pulled up behind Opie, pulled the trigger and lit the back window with bullets. It was done. Opie was dead and Tig could go back to the clubhouse and sleep it all off. Tomorrow would be a new day and he would be himself again, with all this stupid bullshit over.

Tig swung the SUV alongside the truck to make sure that Opie was taken care of. But the body slumped over steering wheel wasn't Opie, wasn't even a man.

Mattie. He killed Mattie by mistake.

Those were her hazel eyes lifelessly watching him, asking why the fuck he couldn't get his act together and do things the right way, the Tigger way. He'd told himself that he was making it messy, ghetto, like Clay asked him, but it was the coward's way out. Tig couldn't look at Opie while he pulled the trigger. He'd known the kid for practically all thirty-some-odd years of his life, seen him get married, have those kids, go to jail for the club… Goddamn it. Tig was never fucking afraid of killing somebody. Opie shouldn't have been different.

But he didn't kill Opie, he killed Mattie. _His_ Mattie. For nearly eleven fucking years, she'd been his Mattie. Even when she was off at college, when she was in New York, Mattie was always Tigger's. And now she didn't even exist, she was dead, just like Annie. All three women that Tig once loved were gone. Two were dead, and the other might as well have been.

Something was screaming. Somebody. Low, nearly inaudible, but it was there, filling the cool night air. Tig looked around, searched for the sound, but he couldn't find it. Because it was his vocal cords making that choked noise, his cheeks hot with spilled tears. Christ, he was falling apart. One bad decision and he was fucking messed up. And Mattie was gone. Mattie. Mattie.

It took him a second to figure out that he was staring up into the ceiling of his dorm room, that it was a goddamn dream. Mattie was fine. He'd made a mistake, but not that big of a mistake, as fucking selfish as that seemed. Sitting up too quickly, feeling bile hit the back of his throat and his brain flop helplessly around in his throbbing skull, Tig tried to inhale as much air as he possibly could. The situation in the dream might've been wrong, it was Donna instead of Mattie, but all the feelings were the same. The sensations. It was a perfect fucking replay of what happened the night before, the scotch unable to wipe the memories away like he wanted. The mostly empty bottle on his nightstand- it was just an overturned crate, but it worked- laughed at Tig as he fumbled towards the bathroom, feet barely able to find purchase on the cold floor.

The sink was clean. Tig distinctly remembered leaving the mess of broken glass in the porcelain vessel, but maybe that was wrong. The cut above his eye was crusted over, a little reminder of smashing his fucking face into the mirror when he could no longer stand to look at himself anymore. After killing Donna, Tig wasn't sure how justice would be carried out, but he was positive that there would retribution. Against him, well, that depended on how solid of an alibi that Clay was willing to lend. If it was up to Tig, it wouldn't be much. He deserved whatever his brothers wanted to punish him with.

Except for an eye for an eye. Nothing could happen to Mattie. _Nothing._ Tig would make absolutely goddamn sure that she was safe.

There were no aspirin left in the medicine cabinet, no relief left in any of the tiny plastic bottles. Fuck. He'd have to go exploring the clubhouse for some, when all he really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep for the next fifteen years. Tig would be good and old then, and who the hell would want a geezer as a Sergeant-at-Arms? Charming would be just a little safer with him off the streets.

It was too fucking early to be awake anyway. Twenty past one in the afternoon. Okay, maybe not as early as he originally thought, but the cheerful blue glow of the clock atop his dresser still pissed him off. After all the alcohol he'd inhaled, Tig should've been passed out until next week. Instead, he was carefully maneuvering through the hallway towards the communal bathroom, holding onto the walls for support and hoping that nobody saw him. The smell of somebody's lunch was making him nauseous, and Tig swore that the whole building was moving from side to side by the time he finally slammed the door behind him. The dark, dank restroom was a place that Tig had long ago gotten used to, but the scent of whoever had just completed their business… He couldn't. Jesus motherfucking Christ, he couldn't.

Forget the Advil. Forget sleep. Tig needed to suffer a little, so he wandered towards the kitchen, towards burning bacon. That meant that the Prospect was in charge of cooking. Maybe the kid meant well, but damn, Tig was sure that half the things he made weren't edible. Or Half-Sack was slowly trying to poison them all. Seeing the billow of black smoke coming off the griddle on the stove, Tig decided that the kid was just a shit cook and not a criminal mastermind. That required a whole set of mental faculties that Half-Sack didn't possess.

"Hey, brother." Chibs greeted as Tig walked into the main area of the clubhouse. The Scot was still the bar, in the same spot that he'd been the night before, although Juice was no longer by his elbow.

"Mornin'." Tig replied with a growl, settling a couple spots down. After the party, Chibs was one of the last men he wanted to talk to. Christ, he had his hands all over Mattie. Touching and teasing and… Tig couldn't think about it anymore or he might vomit. Whether that was a result of jealousy or the amount of alcohol he consumed, well, it didn't really matter.

"Matt still here?"

The question was innocent enough, but Tig couldn't help viciously curling his lip back, preparing for the snarl he was surely going to utter. "What the fuck's that s'pposed to mean?"

Chibs just raised an eyebrow. "She came by last night, to see you. Late, though. Or at that point, mighta been early."

Vaguely, Tig remembered getting out of bed to grab a bite and coming back to find Mattie in his dorm. Honestly, he kind of thought it was a dream, but apparently not. Which meant that the question she'd asked wasn't a dream either.

_Did you kill Donna?_

How the fuck would she know to ask something like that? Mattie was smart, but without knowing the whole goddamn story, it'd be impossible to follow that line of logic. Connecting Tig to Donna's death required a shitload of knowledge that as of last night, only three men knew. More like two, because Jax suspected, but wasn't absolutely positive. Did the Prince decide to go and have a discussion with Mattie? Talk about all the bad shit that Tig did; tell her that he killed her best friend? That motherfucker. That lowlife, mind-poisoning asshole.

But if Mattie knew what Tig did, why would she want to see him? She was a turn and run kind of girl, not a confrontational one. Hurt her, push her too hard, and she'd get the hell outta Dodge. Donna's death would definitely fall under those two categories, maybe a combination of both.

He hoped he was sober enough to drive, because he needed to find Mattie. Needed to see what she knew and how she knew it.

"Brother?" Chibs called after him. "Where you goin'?"

"Check on Matt. You know when she left?"

"No. Passed out around dawn. Juicie's out in the yard, though. I don't think he slept. Too shaken up. Mighta seen her leave." Chibs offered with a shrug, and Tig turned on his heel, heading towards the garage to find Juice instead of his dorm to find his cell.

Sure enough, Juice was lazily taking shots at the heavy bag. The younger man wasn't known for his boxing skills, he was a good shot and magic with computers, but hand-to-hand combat was not really his forte. Not like Tig. Few people enjoyed the crunch of fists against skin like he did.

"Hey, asshole." Tig shouted, catching Juice's attention. Kid looked like death warmed over. Maybe a little worse than that.

"Yeah?"

"Did you see Mattie leave this morning?" He tried to casual, but his tone hovered somewhere between tell-me-or-I'll-kill-you and answer-right-fucking-now.

"Uh, yeah. Couple hours ago. She wanted to make a few things to bring over Opie's." Juice chanced a grin. "You know, we should have her teach the Prospect a thing or two. Don't know how many more pieces of burnt bacon I can stomach. You ever try his burgers? Terrible, man-"

"I'll see what I can do." Tig waved him off, looking for his bike. He didn't remember where he parked last night, everything a hazy sea of booze and _did you kill Donna_? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tig loved damage control, but not when it involved his girl. And no matter what, Mattie was still Tig's girl. No matter how hard his Scottish brother flirted with her. No matter how much she knew about a certain murder that happened in the middle of Charming last night.

Tig wasn't so sure that he believed that one.

It took entirely too long for Mattie to answer her door, so Tig slammed the heel of his hand into the doorbell. The sound trilled until he heard the scrape of a lock disengaging, until he saw those narrowed hazel eyes.

"Christ. What's the matter?" She asked, raking a hand through her wet hair. Probably just got out of the shower.

In answer, he kissed her, a little too hard, desperate to feel her lips against his, to remind himself that things couldn't get too out of hand lest he lose her again. Mattie gave him another one of stunned glances before she shifted, letting Tig through the doorway.

"You okay?" He asked quietly. She'd know what he meant.

"I'm…" Mattie shrugged. "Not great, I guess. Things could be worse though."

Mattie looked at him again, arms folded over her chest, feet moving backwards to put as much space between them as she possibly could. Because she knew what he did and she was worried that he was coming to do the same thing to her. Mattie knew too much, and by the nervous glint her eyes, she recognized that fact. And what happened to nosy bitches wasn't exactly a secret…

"So… You came by the club last night?"

"Yeah. Slept for a few hours and then came back home. You were still knocked out when I left." Tig didn't remember her inside his bed, but that was probably the scotch's fault.

"What did you want?" His voice dipped dangerously, but Mattie seemed not to register it. Or she hid it well.

"Tigger." An appeal that he was going to ignore. "You know what I wanted."

"Do I?"

"Yes. And I… I need some time away from you to process what you did."

What he did? Tig was just following orders and Donna and Opie fucking decide to go and switch cars and blow the whole plan to shit. And along the way, somebody decided to whisper the whole thing in Mattie's ear. Didn't she know how awful he felt? Didn't she understand that killing an innocent woman tore him the fuck apart? Why was she looking at him like he was a murderer? Mattie didn't have to do that. She didn't have to be so heartless. She knew Tigger. She knew it was a mistake. Christ, Mattie had to know. But he couldn't say any of it, couldn't tell her how fucking sorry he was that he hurt her, that he took Donna away from her. The words wouldn't pass his lips.

The misery somehow morphed into rage, and Tig didn't know what to do to stop it. The wrath was a defense mechanism; he realized that, which he wielded with deft precision. When Mattie left for New York, it took over, controlling him, fueling his every action. It was his fault- mostly his fault, at least- but it didn't matter. She was gone and he was pissed and that was all he knew.

Fight or flight had no real meaning to Tig. There was no instinct for flight within him, only the ability to fight. Mattie was the opposite. She ran.

Only once did he indulge that impulse to get away.

And then three months later, Book died, and Mattie abandoned Tig for six goddamn years.

He supposed it was some kind of sick retaliation, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

"Who told you?" Tig asked slowly, waiting for her to recoil.

"It doesn't matter, Tigger."

"The fuck it doesn't. Do you understand what you know could destroy the club? Do you understand what happens to women who don't keep their mouths shut?" Tig didn't care if that sounded like a threat.

"I'd never say anything. I know what it would do to Opie. And if you're going to kill me, well, I don't know if you'd get a better chance, Tig. Just make sure the right person dies this time."

Tig didn't know how he strode across the room so quickly, how he managed to pin her against the wall with such ease. His Glock was in his hand, pressed into her torso, the barrel digging into Mattie's skin. If he hurt her, he didn't care. She didn't get to say things like that, not to him. Bitch needed to be taught a lesson. Because she needed to understand that it was an accident, a terrible accident that he would take back if it were possible. It wasn't though, and Mattie being such a goddamn cunt about it wouldn't make a fucking difference.

What was that about his girl being non-confrontational? It sounded strange now, after hearing those words out of her mouth.

"You would kill me?" She asked. He swore that she was smirking.

"For the good of the club."

"Take a life to save a life?"

"Always."

"If that's what you think you're doing, then pull the goddamn trigger, baby." Mattie whispered, before resting a hand on his shoulder. Always comforting him. Even when he was thinking about killing her.

"I… I love you."

Why he chose that particular moment to say those three words, he didn't know. They just felt like a good parting sentiment, but of course, as soon as Tig admitted it, the gun in his hand fell slack. Somebody else would need to take her out. If it was even necessary. He didn't know anymore. He just didn't fucking know.

Tig let Mattie's feet touch the floor once again, but he was still slumped against her, as though her body could accept all his self-loathing through the contact. Maybe she did understand how lost he was.

Mattie understood Tigger better than he ever gave her credit for.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kind of a heavy chapter to write. I think I might switch back to the flashbacks for a chapter or two, just to lighten things up for a bit. Then there's a little more fall out to deal with before the story transitions into the events of the show's second season. Anyway, thanks for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	26. Chapter 26

_I know you're unstable_

_It isn't the easiest thing to be_

_And I know they used you_

_When you were doing your best to be free_

_And I hear what they say about you_

_But I don't let it bother me_

_We all know they'd be nothing without you_

_And that's always been true to me_

_Mother Father – Korey Dane_

* * *

><p>"I know there's somebody. We're best friends, you're contractually obligated by ancient bonds of BFF-hood to tell me." Donna teased, lying across Mattie's bed. "You're never this smiley when you're single."<p>

"Well, you're imagining it. I'm just very entertained by this calculus work, that's all." Mattie retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Just _tell_ me. Who is it? Jax? Shit, that'd be just about Gemma's dream come true. Judging by your glare, I'm going to guess it's not Jax. Come on, Matt. I'm sure that once you get it off your chest you'll feel better."

"Is it really so impossible to believe that I might just be in a good mood that's not induced by the opposite sex, Lerner?" She asked, looking up from her homework. "I, for one, am disappointed in your suspicions."

Donna just scowled, leaving Mattie to consider her work once again. Because, honestly, there was no way that Tig's name was going to leave her lips. Her friend would never understand how they'd came together in Mattie's kitchen, that deep, heavy kiss he pressed against her mouth, his fingers rubbing against the fabric of her bra. How much Mattie simply _wanted_ him, a feeling that she'd never experienced before, not even when she was with David. It was hell fighting off the urge to drag Tigger back to her bedroom once he pulled his lips away. All the reasons she shouldn't melted away the moment their mouths melt, when he pushed her back until the kitchen counter dug into her spine. There might've been a dead man in the living room, but that hadn't really been Mattie's main concern.

She knew she wasn't thinking straight when Tig had to be the voice of reason. If he hadn't stopped and ordered her to call Chief Unser, well, another crime might've been committed that night.

Of passion.

Jesus Christ. If Mattie wasn't so goddamn horny- if that's what the tingle of anticipation between her legs was- she would've reprimanded herself. Instead, she just internally shook her head and did her best to move on.

Yeah, Donna wouldn't be able to wrap her head around Mattie's feelings for Tig. How the two decades- it could be more, or less, she hadn't the courage to ask what his age actually was- separating them was not as intimidating as it once seemed. After she'd seen with her own eyes how much Tig actually cared about her, how he wanted and needed to keep her safe, those years didn't matter anymore. Hearing the wretched way that he'd screamed her name when he thought she was dead… it still sent chills up her spine. Before, Mattie assumed that Tig only interacted with her in order to press her buttons, his interest only sexual. Now, she was sure that it was something more that. Something indescribable, that had to be kept secret for both their sakes.

If she could only stop fantasizing about how amazing his calloused hands would feel running down her body, maybe it'd be easier to focus on both the lie she was telling Donna and her math homework. Mattie wasn't betting on it, though. She hadn't expected Tig to be so adamant about waiting until she turned eighteen, but damn it, he was, and so she was doomed to a sexually frustrated hell for the next couple months. Why he suddenly decided to take the moral high ground was a mystery to Mattie, considering the hungry way his lips had assaulted hers just a few weeks ago. Wasn't he supposed to be an outlaw biker? Surely, it wouldn't be the first time that Tigger did some illegal fucking…

Mattie really needed to divert the current line of thought her brain was heading down, or else she'd never be able to keep a straight face during Donna's interrogation.

"Did you hook up with David? Heard he was back in town for his spring break." Donna raised an eyebrow mischievously. Obviously, she was more in the mood to gossip about Mattie's love life than watch her concentrate on homework. Mattie couldn't exactly blame her for that one.

"No, I did not. We broke up, in case you forgot."

"So? Doesn't mean you can't fool around. But I guess that Hale's a little bit of a goody-two-shoes. You, on the other hand…" Donna left the rest of her statement unsaid, knowing that Mattie would object.

She didn't disappoint. "What do you mean by that? I'm the good one, remember?"

"Out of the SAMCRO babies, which doesn't really count, considering that there's only three of you."

"Four. You're an honorary member." Mattie pointed out.

Donna shook her head. "Whatever. Avoid my line of questioning. Pretend to finish your math homework. When did you ever become such a nerd?"

Narrowing her eyes, Mattie replied, "It's Sunday evening. Not Friday, when we went to the club and got wasted with the boys, not Saturday, when we went to Dillon's party and got wasted again. Sunday. Unfortunately, some of us have to go to school tomorrow."

"You should really stop that." Donna joked. "And I have class all day the rest of the week, for your information, Cardinal. That's my tip, don't schedule anything on Monday. That way you can have fun with your best friend on Sunday."

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind." Mattie glanced at her alarm clock. "Weren't you supposed to go over to Ope's for dinner? Heard Piney was making his famous sloppy Joes."

"Nobody ever said they were famous because they were _good_." Donna said, sliding off Mattie's bed. "But don't worry, I know when I wear out my welcome."

"Really? Because I would've thought you picked up on that a couple hours ago." Mattie teased. "Just kidding. I'll call you tomorrow to come over if Mrs. Weinstein decides to go easy on the calculus. Otherwise, you're gonna have to entertain yourself."

"Don't I feel special."

Mattie followed Donna downstairs, escorting her out like a good hostess would. Even if they were at a point in their friendship where it was common to walk in and out of each other's houses with knocking or saying goodbye. Book never really noticed- Donna was like a second daughter, and having her around the house was pretty normal- and the Lerners had known Mattie for so long that she had her own key.

"Love ya, Cardinal." Donna said in a singsong voice, grinning. "Even if you won't tell me who you're hot for."

"Love you too, Lerner. Now get outta my house." Mattie replied, waving her goodbye as she walked down to her car. Or rather, her mother's, since the station wagon technically still belonged to Mrs. Lerner. Listening to the familiar the backfire of the engine starting, Mattie closed the door and headed back upstairs to finish her math work.

Although, summoning enough concentration to sort out all the numbers was more difficult without Donna around. With silence bleating all around Mattie, the math in front of her eyes kept floating away, replaced with illicit thoughts of Tigger. And the nagging consideration that David was back in town, without even delivering a hello upon his arrival. They'd only been neighbors for fifteen years, past romantic relationship or not. A relationship that David had ended. Their breakup was accompanied by pretty much zero explanation, just _I'm going to college and it wouldn't be fair_. Then he was gone. She might've understood David's reason if he'd been anybody else, for cheating wasn't even in his vocabulary, let alone something allowable by his moral compass. No, Judge Hale had a hand in there some place, Mattie was sure of it. Now though, more than seven months later, she didn't know how much she really cared anymore. The wound had healed, but David's snub upset Mattie in a way she didn't understand.

She looked at the clock after solving a few more problems, hoping that time might've sped up while she worked. No, it wasn't even halfway to six, which meant that Mattie still had a couple hours to get through before the weekly Sunday night dinner that Gemma threw. Well, usually Bobby was the one cooking and Gemma hosting, but the difference didn't really matter to Mattie. There was always good food, decent conversation, and mostly importantly, Tig. Not that they could get within ten feet of one another without attracting unwanted suspicion. Jax had been on his guard since the whole Hirsch incident. Tig being the first one to find her? That was dubious in the Prince's eyes, and he was sure to let her know it. Nothing she said made a difference, to the point where he turned her over to his mother. Counseling with Gemma was usually something Mattie enjoyed, but when it was regarding Tigger, well, she tried her best to squirm out of it.

That course of action hadn't worked well, and the Queen spent the better part of an hour trying her best to force Mattie into a topic of conversation that she had no interest in exploring. _Do you have a crush on anybody from school? Anybody from the club? A prospect maybe, or even Jax? Because anybody else, baby, that could end up real complicated. And that is the last thing that both you and the MC need right now. _Neither Mattie nor Tig were making things complicated, after all, they could barely speak to one another without getting the third degree from one of the Tellers. Book, however, had thankfully slackened since the Hirsch incident, even if Tig hadn't arrived in time to save her from the madman. But her father had equipped her with skills that combined with sheer dumb luck, saved her life.

Mattie had developed a queer sort of memory loss when it came to that day. She could remember Hirsch coming into her house and him laying dead on the carpet, but everything in between was… gone. Erased, like her brain had recognized the trauma and decided to be rid of it. There were only phantom sensations, the weight of the gun in her hand, the pressure of a knee pressed into her abdomen, a fleeting sensation of blind fear. Nothing else. Almost as if it had not even happened to Mattie, as if she'd watched it on the TV or read about in a book, but certainly not experienced it first hand.

Which completely disturbed her. Shouldn't she feel guilty for murdering somebody? True, the ability to kill was basically written into her DNA, an innate right as a Cardinal. She wasn't like her father, though, she wasn't an outlaw biker. Fuck, Mattie was a high school student. That'd dodged death twice in the past six months. And was in love with a man more than twice her age. Was it even possible for Mattie to be somewhat normal? No, probably not, but Jesus Christ, could she request an off week at least? Time off to enjoy the strange little life she'd both inherited and created for herself?

SAMCRO had helped to clean up the mess Reese had created, though. Mattie had accidentally taken care of Hirsch, and the club got rid of the rest of his haphazard organization. Poorly constructed crank labs were put out of commission, bold drug dealers venturing towards Charming made bashful. After it was all done, the town had no idea that anything had even gone down. Unser had done a thorough job making sure that Mattie's name was kept out of any paperwork as far as Hirsch's death was concerned, in official capacities, Book was the one responsible for the asshole's demise. He'd come home to find Mattie being held hostage by Hirsch, wrestled with the man, took his gun, and shot him. Tig had come by to… shit. Mattie couldn't remember the pretend reason by he was there. Probably should figure that out, in case some curious newcomer to Charming PD decided to come by with questions. It wasn't likely, but she wanted to make sure her own loose ends were tied.

Perhaps she should go straight to the Son in question and ask him herself. Tig usually spent Sundays in his apartment, doing laundry for the week and unwinding in front of the TV. Mattie could wait until Gemma's dinner, _should_ wait, but… damn. She was horny and she was bored, so fuck it. And if he wasn't home, she'd head to the club and maybe swill a few beers with Jax and Opie. Just Jax- Opie would be enjoying some of Piney's sloppy Joes with Donna. Piney was never one for Sunday dinners. Too many assholes, not enough tequila, he'd joke. Hell, he said that about pretty much everything.

Changing into a nicer pair of jeans- the ones she'd been wearing had a hole in the knee and near the ass, a result of getting caught on a fence she'd been hopping with Jax- Mattie threw on a pair of sneakers and sped out the door. Her clothes were casual enough that Tig wouldn't question the effort she'd placed in choosing them, decent enough that Gemma wouldn't beg to take her shopping for a wardrobe that didn't scream tomboy, and comfortable enough that Mattie would be tugging on her shirt all evening. Besides, with her red sweatshirt, she'd be okay. Tig called it her safety blanket- always in his smirking way- and maybe he was right. If she could find a little bit of security in some bright cotton, was it really so bad?

Parking behind his building, in a spot between a shed and the mostly muddy patch of grass where Missy did her business, Mattie smoothed down a rogue curl. She was nervous about how Tigger would react to her sudden, unannounced intrusion; not that having her hair in place would sway his opinion one way or the other. Summoning a little bit of the resolve that had evaporated since she left her house, Mattie climbed the narrow stairs to his apartment, ignoring the nervous quiver in her throat. The worst he could do was tell her to get out.

Mattie knew that the number of women that ventured into his private space numbered exactly one- her. Two, if she decided to count Missy. Tigger probably did, since the pup was about the closest he'd gotten to an Old Lady since Colleen took the twins and divorced him. They used to own a house, closer to Main Street, a ranch that Mattie vaguely remembered visiting a few times. Colleen had gotten the home, along with the children, and pretty much everything else. The judicial system in Charming was not very sympathetic to SAMCRO, as she'd seen countless times. Just because the men were bikers did not mean they were unfit parents. In Book's case, especially- but she was so tired about thinking about what might've been if he'd gotten custody of George. Ten years later, Mattie was exhausted about the whole thing.

Although, if Mattie was exhausted about her family situation, Tig was the opposite. Always pissed off, ready to unfurl his temper the moment somebody mentioned Colleen or the twins. _Whore of a woman took my kids. _My _kids. Fucking bitch did it to be spiteful_. His ex-wife- Mattie still found it a little baffling that the two had been married- was a source of unending anger, and he barely spoke her name aloud. Whore, bitch, cunt, those were her default identities. Mattie thought that maybe Colleen broke Tig's heart, not that he'd ever admit such a thing. In the brief, smiling part of their marriage, she remembered Tigger being in love with Colleen and his girls. Still the crass asshole he usually was, just with a beaming grin whenever his wife and children were about. Mattie didn't know what made their relationship change so drastically, and it wasn't really any of her business. She was just a kid when Tig and Colleen split, nine or ten. At the time, she'd just added Colleen the never-ending list of failed Old Ladies. Perhaps that wasn't so fair. Knowing Tigger, it probably wasn't, but truthfully, Mattie didn't want to know. She'd figure him out herself.

Unlocking his door with the tarnished spare key he'd given her, Mattie stepped inside his apartment, reveling in the scent of fresh laundry and open beers, stubbed-out cigarettes and Irish Spring. His dorm smelled similar- only once she managed to stray so far back in the clubhouse without anybody noticing- although, she much preferred this place to the dorm. The croweaters were a large factor in that preference. None here, _a lot_ there. It was a reality that Mattie was slowly trying to wrap her head around. Tigger fucked a lot of women. No matter what she did, that would never change. Exclusivity was not something that the man had ever mastered, and Mattie would have to swallow that idea sooner or later.

Besides, if he had to choose between a seventeen year old girl that he wasn't legally able to touch and all the barely clothed women at the club, really, was the decision that hard? Sometimes, Mattie didn't know what she was doing. Actually, when it came to Tig, she never did. She didn't know if that feeling would ever go away.

All she could focus on, however, was the slow flicker of Tig's gaze darting from the TV to her. Those too-blue eyes taking her in, evaluating her presence in his apartment. Suspicious for a moment- _did I invite you_- softening into swift concern- _is everything okay_- before just narrowing in confusion. Missy wandered over to sniff at her, wondering why their guest was still standing frozen in front of the doorway instead of bending down to pet her, like Mattie usually would.

"What's up, baby?" Tig asked, allowing a smirk to ghost over his lips for the smallest of moments. Ah. Mattie knew that expression. He was pleased to see her, and that was the most she could ask for.

"Needed to get out of the house. Thought you might like some company." She replied, walking over to settle by his side on the couch. "Whatcha watching?"

"Indiana Jones."

"What's Indy up to today?" Mattie gently coaxed the remote from him, taking it from his hand and placing it on the table. Tig quirked a glance at her, but didn't argue.

"The usual. Kicking ass and getting the girl. You know, sounds a lot like a guy I know."

"Jax?" Mattie retorted, knowing that the response would annoy him.

"You get another one of Gem's why-won't-you-date-my-son talks?" He shook his head. "Next time you should tell her that you don't want the Prince's limp dick."

"That would imply that I have somebody else's dick, which you have made it very, very clear that I do not."

Tig laughed, which she didn't expect. "You have one on reserve for two months from now."

"June is more than two months away." Mattie thought she might've sounded like a spoiled child, but he seemed not to notice.

He shrugged. "You'll survive."

Really? Did he need to be so difficult? Tig and sex went hand in hand, and now that Mattie and Tig were hand in hand, by the transitive property… Shit. She'd spent way too much time on that math homework.

"Judging by the way my life has been going, there's no guarantees, pal. You gotta get while the getting is good." Mattie replied, hoping that he'd smile. No such luck.

"Don't talk like that."

She sighed. What did she expect? Tig wasn't about to change his mind any time soon. Unless, Mattie did her very best to talk him into something that she knew he wanted just as badly. Did he forget his little declaration on Valentine's Day? Well, yeah, he did, but that was because he was drunk, so technically, it didn't count. If Tigger wanted to fuck her on February 14th, he should still want to fuck her on March 23rd. Forget waiting until June 18th. Mattie couldn't last that long. Especially when he ran his hand up the inner seam of her jeans, slowly caressing her upper thigh, pulling away whenever his fingers got too high. It was completely mentally debilitating. Didn't he know that she couldn't think? Didn't he- Wait. Tig was doing it on purpose.

Maybe this was another game. Knowing Tigger, it probably was. There was no way that he wanted to wait until June. Really, what incentive did that give him? Mattie wasn't a virgin, she'd only been with one other man, but her cherry had definitely been popped. She wasn't special in that respect. So, why? Tig didn't care about right and wrong, not when it came to the law. What difference did two-and-a-half months really make? He wouldn't tell her, whenever Mattie grew insistent; Tig just planted a slow, delicious kiss on her lips to shut her up. It always worked, of course. There was something about his mouth that made her thoughts automatically shut down. In Tigger's presence, the default setting of her normally rigid body was _just go with it_. It was a sensation that Mattie was having a hard time getting used to.

"Stop," She groaned, pushing his hand away. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" Tig asked, his face expressionless. Oh, this was definitely a game.

"Because, you are driving me crazy. You know you are."

"Am I making you wet?" He drawled, voice low, dangerous. Her skin immediately responded by erupting in goose bumps.

The answer was: yes, of course. But instead, Mattie said, "Don't."

"Why? It's a perfectly innocent question. For me." Tig leaned in, his forehead touching hers. "I'll repeat, am I making you wet, baby?"

Okay. Mattie had prepared for this. Taking in a deep breath, Mattie gently removed his hand from her thigh and positioned his fingers on the zipper of her sweatshirt. "Pull."

Mattie half-expected him to protest by demanding an answer to his question, but instead, he tugged the zipper down. Tig's lips twitched as the front of the sweatshirt separated, revealing just pale skin and a simple black bra with touches of cream lace across the cups. Her shirt- the one she was planning to wear to dinner- was folded in her purse for later, but right now, she wasn't concerned with that. She shrugged out of the red jacket, trying her best not to shiver in the cold apartment, hoping that Tig wouldn't order to her get redressed.

"Baby." Tigger rasped. His fingers reached out for a second, before he withdrew them.

Mattie couldn't help grinning. "Am I making you hard?"

Yeah, if this was a game, she was finally winning for a change.

Tigger didn't answer, just pressed his lips hard against hers hungrily, lunging across the short distance between the two of them. His hands were politely clutched around her waist, and Mattie could feel the tension with which they were pinned, like he didn't trust himself. She didn't either, but that was what she wanted. Needed. Months and months of teasing… what else did Tig expect? Even if Mattie was with him just once- his track record suggested that would be the case- she didn't care. Not immediately, anyway. That wound would be dealt with later. Now, as Tig lifted Mattie onto his lap, breasts brushing against his chest, it didn't matter. Not as much as shedding clothes and positioning herself around the bulge in Tig's jeans. But quickly as things began, Tigger pulled his mouth away, pushed Mattie back just a little.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He growled. "What the fuck, Matt?"

"I think they call this foreplay." Mattie gently trailed a hand across his cheek, still playing innocent.

"When the girl is seventeen, they don't call it that. They call it statutory fucking rape." Tigger slid out from under her, throwing a hand through his hair. Fuck. He was more irate than she gave him credit for.

"Nobody has to know."

"Yeah? And how long you think this is gonna be a secret? How long before your pops comes to my door, demanding to know why I fucked his underage daughter? Mattie, baby, you're a club kid."

"That you want to fuck."

He closed his eyes. "Yeah. That I want to fuck real, real bad, and you ain't making it any easier."

"What's a couple of months going to do? What difference do they make to you?" Mattie fed off his mood, feeling her eyebrows tug into a glare. "You are driving me up a fucking wall, Tigger, and seriously, I cannot wait when you won't stop _touching_ me."

Tig bent down and lifted her chin, not in the softest of ways. His fingertips roughly biting her skin, his eyes burning holes through hers. Mattie had really pissed him off, and for once, she was afraid. She could see the venom that everybody else saw, the quick, vicious detour between happiness and wrath, the unpredictability of his actions. He wouldn't hurt her- he'd fought too hard too many times to keep her safe- but Mattie couldn't help but tremble. Not in anticipation, like she usually was in his presence, but in fear.

"You are a good girl, Matt. A good girl. I don't… Shit. I don't know. I wanna treat you right. You deserve that." He bit the insides of his cheeks before continuing. "If we fuck this up, some of those boys are going to after my blood. You think Jax will make things easy? Bobby? Your dad? I just need to do this my way."

Sighing, not thoroughly convinced but more understanding, Mattie nodded. "Okay. Fine."

"Don't look so sad, doll." Tig smirked, breaking his serious expression.

"I'm not sad, I'm sexually frustrated."

"Well, if it makes a difference, your tits look great. Even if they're all covered up."

Mattie rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "You're an ass."

"No. I'm a dick. A big dick with a big-"

"Dick. I know. Stop bragging."

"It's not bragging if it's true, babe. And I was going to say cock." He kissed her again, gently parting her lips with his tongue, masterfully invading her mouth. Sometimes- or more recently, all the time- Mattie dreamed about what that tongue could do elsewhere.

"Of course you were." Mattie retorted when he pulled away. "Come on, if you're not gonna fuck me, let's watch the rest of Indy and then head to dinner."

"I will fuck you, gorgeous, it's just a matter of when."

With that, Tig bowed his head into the crook of her neck, his lips cascading down to her shoulder. Mattie wasn't expecting the quick blow of pain as Tigger's teeth caught her skin, leaving a love bite that would be concealed by her clothing. Marking her. It felt… oddly intimate. The welt said far more than Tig would ever utter aloud.

"Now, you're mine. My girl Mattie." He finished, directing his attention back to the television. What a cocky asshole.

But she liked the way that sounded. _My girl Mattie_. Now, that was something to be proud of.

However, the sound of the door opening while she was still clad in just her bra and jeans, well, Mattie wasn't sure if she'd ever felt so hopeless in her entire life.

And that included both of the times she nearly died.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck?"<p>

Kozik was pretty sure that he'd said that same phrase at least four times already, however, considering what he'd just seen, there wasn't really anything else that fit the bill. Shit, his brain was stuck, still processing the scene- even if the duo standing sheepishly in front of him had cleaned up rather quickly. Mattie was all clothed, Tig wore his trademark who-are-you-to-tell-me-what-to-do stare and Koz was fucking dumbfounded. Everything, all of it, was wrong.

Matt was seventeen. Koz teased during the lockdown, had flirted a little, but damn, he had no intention of ever crossing that line. Wasn't worth all the bullshit that it'd cause- and in a charter that was as up its own ass as the Redwood Originals, there'd be more than just explaining to do. What the hell was Tig thinking? Or Mattie? The Cardinals were supposed to be smart. Hooking up with Tigger, well, that was just about the most moronic thing a girl like Mattie could do.

And so, Kozik very slowly repeated, "What the fuck?"

"It's not what you think." Mattie replied finally, not meeting his eyes.

"Oh, and please tell me about all the fascinating, legal things the two of you could be doing while you're not wearing a shirt."

"We weren't fucking, if that's what you're worried about, Pretty Boy." Tig growled, "Not that there'd be anything wrong if we were."

"Maybe you should take a trip down to talk to Unser and ask him about how illegal it is to have sex with a seventeen year old girl, and while you're at it, maybe have a quick discussion with Book about sticking your dick in his underage daughter!" Kozik wasn't sure how he'd suddenly become the responsible adult taking the moral high ground, but damn, this was one situation where things were definitely black and white.

"He's not!" Mattie exclaimed, indignant. "This is my fault, not Tig's. I came onto him. I invited myself over, I took my sweatshirt off. Tig didn't have anything to do with it, I swear, Koz."

"Yeah, I'm sure ol' Blue Eyes over here is completely innocent."

All Kozik wanted to do was get away from the internal dramatic shit going down at Tacoma, get back to roots at the Redwood Originals, and here he was, trying to logically figure out a way to justify a half-naked teenager in Tig's apartment. Or what was supposed to be Kozik's apartment for as long as he was in Charming. _Don't worry, only time I'm there is to do my laundry or to get a few minutes alone during the week. You'll have it mostly to yourself. _Why had Koz believed that? So far, in the whole nine days he'd been in town, Tig had watched him like a hawk inside the postage-stamp sized apartment, making sure he didn't touch anything he wasn't supposed to. Got to the point where Koz left to go grocery shopping just to get out of the SAA's glare.

And he came back to find… whatever the fuck was going on between Tig and Mattie.

Seriously, what was wrong with her? Out of all the eligible men in Charming, Mattie decided to pick the most volatile? The one that she had absolutely no business pursuing, especially when he was old enough to be her father?

The age difference might've been the most outwardly disturbing, but it was definitely the difference in personalities that bothered Koz. Mattie, quiet, mature, smart, going after Tig, whose psychopathic tendencies were well known far beyond the Mother Charter. Or it might've bee the opposite- Tig going after Matt- though, that did not make it any easier to stomach. Just the opposite, actually.

And then there'd been that big pink welt on Mattie's shoulder. Was that supposed to set Kozik at ease? How in the fuck were the two of them planning on introducing their illicit little relationship to the rest of the club, anyway? _Hey guys, banging one of the SAMCRO babies, hope it's okay! _

Christ, what the hell would Book think about all this? Did he want his daughter becoming an Old Lady when she was barely eighteen? Having Tig's babies? Hopelessly stuck to the MC for the rest of her life, for better or worse?

Knowing Tigger, it'd probably be for the worse…

Koz was full of unanswerable questions, each one gaining heft as he paced back and forth across worn floorboards, Tig, Mattie and Missy closely watching his every step. Their movement were almost synchronized- the soft swish and flick of heads bobbing side to side- and almost distracting enough to help alleviate the solid headache that had too easily settled into the back of his brain.

"It ain't even the fact that the two of you are-" Koz didn't bother finishing the end of that particular statement, "It's that you're so goddamn stupid about it. Your father would- will- kill him if he finds out. And he won't stop to ask questions."

"He _won't_ find out, though. Right?" Mattie asked, almost defiantly.

"Can't make any promises about that, sunshine. He's my brother now, and me keeping a secret like this…" He let out a deep breath, "That's some serious shit on my conscience."

Tig finally opened his mouth, allowing his perma-smirk to vanish for a moment. "You're not keeping any secrets, Pretty Boy. You didn't see anything. You ain't got any proof. Maybe she was changing. Maybe she spilled something. Just because her skin was showing doesn't mean we're fucking."

"Those are really great excuses, Tigger, but they don't mean anything. I know you, don't you forget. I know what you're like. Perversion isn't really a foreign concept to you."

"So what?" Tig took a step forward, long legs propelling him too close to Koz. "This isn't what you think. That's the honest fucking truth, whether you choose to believe it or not. I know exactly what sort of respect needs to be paid to Mattie a daughter of a Son. I'm not going to defile her, I'm not going to ruin her reputation, or whatever shit you're worried about. And I'm not going to have sex with her until the day she turns eighteen, when neither you, Book nor anybody else can do a goddamn thing about it."

Kozik met Tig's ice blue eyes, deciding to probe their depths for bullshit. But his gaze didn't waver, didn't forfeit. For once, Koz believed what Tig was saying. Maybe Mattie was different for him. Maybe the monster had found some sort of emotions deep inside himself. Christ, anything was possible, right?

And did he really want to get invested in Charming drama right off the bat?

"So what's in this for me?" Koz eventually sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Because I ain't about to keep a secret for free."

Mattie grinned broadly. "You won't tell my dad?"

"If Tigger agrees to lower my rent by a hundred bucks."

Tig scoffed. "You were already getting the friends and family deal."

"It's the I-know-you're-fooling-around-with-a-teenager deal or it's straight to Book." Koz argued easily, knowing that he was pushing Tig's buttons.

"Fine, fine, fine, you asshole." He turned to Matt. "Comin' outta your allowance."

"I don't get an allowance." She retorted. "And fuck, a hundred dollars might be worth the wrath of shit I'd get from my father."

And there it was, an elusive smile from Tig. Koz wasn't sure he'd ever seen the Charming Sergeant-at-Arms ever give one up so easily, much less to a joke made by a seventeen year old girl.

For a second, he thought that maybe he'd judged the two of them too quickly.

And then, just as quickly, he remembered that Tig was Tig and that Mattie was Mattie, and no matter what, whatever was going on was not going to end well.

But that really wasn't his shit to worry about. Not now, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So I know this one is a little shorter than normal, and took a little longer than expected to post, but things are still crazy around here. Plus, like usual, I added another POV after I edited the first part, deciding to tack on a little bit of length and drama. Hopefully it doesn't look too out of place. Anyhow, thanks for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	27. Chapter 27

_Where do we go from here?_

_Where do we go?_

_And is it real or just something we think we know?_

_Where are we going now?_

_Where do we go?_

_Cause if it's the same as yesterday, you know I'm out, just so you know,_

_Because, because our paths they cross,_

_Yesterday was hard on all of us, on all of us._

_Who can we trust from here?_

_Who can we trust?_

_And are you real or just something from wanderlust?_

_Who can you trust when ears we flower?_

_Who can you trust?_

_From cradle to grave, from ashes to ashes, from dust to dust,_

_Because, because our paths they cross,_

_Yesterday was hard on all of us, on all of us._

_Yesterday Was Hard On All Of Us - Fink_

* * *

><p>George Harrison Cardinal- his mother, before her Jesus phase, worshipped the Beatles- had maybe one memory of the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse. Not that it was all that clear, just some blurry images and quick filter of deep, cigarette and whiskey stained voices. More a feeling than anything else. Certainly nothing either tangible or explainable.<p>

He hadn't known his father very well, or honestly, at all, but driving through the gates made him just a little bit nostalgic. This was a place that his father loved, where he lived. His older sister grew up there. And yet, the whole thing was so unfamiliar that George thought about just turning around and heading back to San Diego. Well, heading to the airport and then back home, but hey, that was pretty much implied.

But no, he had a mission to accomplish, no rough-edged bikers/mechanics/criminals- Reese's explanation of his father became increasingly convoluted as he grew older- were going to get away with that. He parked the Honda CR-V near the garage, locking and settling the alarm just in case. It was just a rental, but better safe than sorry, as they said. And George, well, he usually erred on the side of very, very safe, because otherwise he ended up very, very sorry. Jessie, his fiancé, called him air-headed, but he tended to think that he was more along the lines of slightly to moderately stupid. Mattie was the one with all the brains. His older sister was definitely nothing like him, and George considered that a good thing. For her, at least.

George didn't really understand that Mattie was his sister until he was eight years old. She was just a girl that came over a couple days a month and never got along with his mother. When he figured out that she was his older sister, that her father was his father and her mother was his mother, hell, that was kick in the pants. There was somebody else in the world that loved him, that wanted to take care of him. It was a good feeling. Until he figured out why their parents lived separate lives with separate children. Book Cardinal was a criminal, one that his mother didn't want George around. And Mattie… well, she was just caught in the crossfire. Reese always said that it was easier to take George because he was pretty much a baby, and Mattie had already grown up in all the craziness. George thought that was selfish, but his mom was kind of frightening when she was pissed, so he never said it, not to her face, anyway. Over the phone, in an e-mail, but never, ever, in person.

So really, Mattie was kind of a mystery to George. She was almost six years older than he was, and she lived full time with Book. Hated to see Reese. Nearly every memory of his sister and mother interacting involved a loud, malicious argument, but that was before Reese's newfound Christian kick. She found God, she found salvation, and damn it, she wanted to tell you about salvation. Whether or not you really wanted to hear the shebang. Which was why George traveled all the way from San Diego to hole-in-the-wall Charming. Couldn't exactly have his Jesus-obsessed mother help him plan his wedding. Mattie, smart, kind Mattie, who coincidentally knew how to draw up a pre-nup, would be the perfect person to help. And it would also provide a nice opportunity to figure out that older sister he barely knew.

First, though, he'd have to figure out where the hell she was. And the curly-haired man inside what George hoped was the garage office was a good place to start. Even if he scowled at George the moment he walked in, large, hooked nose wrinkled in disgust. He had one of those leather vests on, all adorned with patches and declarations of power and place within the Sons of Anarchy. Another reminder that despite his father and sister, George Harrison Cardinal was nothing but an outsider.

"Whaddaya want?" The man snarled, propping his boot-clad feet up on the desk. George thought that maybe he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't exactly work on a man like him.

George Harrison Cardinal was six foot five, two hundred thirty pounds- most of which was muscle, not fat- and had maybe three more weeks to go before training camp. Sure, he might not have been a first round draft pick, but the San Diego Chargers picked him up in the fifth. Center. Sure, he would be on the bench for a while, but how many other twenty-two year olds could boast a six-figure salary at their dream job? And really, when you thought about it, who would've guessed that with a father who allegedly murdered people, a mother that was as crazy as she was fickle, George would turn out like he did?

And to start his normal life- well, as normal as a NFL player's life could be- he just needed to get married.

"I'm looking for Matilda Cardinal? She around?" George asked, watching the man's face crumple just the smallest bit. No, not crumple, darken. In anger.

"Who the fuck are you, buddy? How do you even know she's supposed to be 'around'?" He countered, raising an eyebrow. "If you know what good for you, Jock Boy, you'd get outta here real fast."

Ha. Idiot was really going to play that game, huh? George had a couple inches and definitely more than a few pounds on him. But he would play nice, for now. "I just need to talk to her. So, if she's here, could you please let me know?"

"Fuck you. You don't just walk in here and make demands, Jock Boy, especially not after women that are definitely not yours. Especially when they're not available, either. Matt's my girl, dickhead, so you can just go on your merry way and drink a protein shake or something."

_My girl_? George's stomach sank. Patrick had been older-okay, a lot older- than Mattie, but shit, at least he'd been pleasant. Nice, even. This asshole's attitude definitely left a lot to be desired. Plus, George didn't exactly want to think about his older sister sleeping with some sleazy biker with a serious anger-management problem.

George leaned forward, put his palms on the metal desk. Not quite threatening, not quite serene either. "Let's stop playing games. I want to talk to Mattie and I want to talk to her now, so if she's here, tell me. If she isn't, tell me, and I'll leave. Easy as that. No need to make things complicated."

"Again, I feel the need to ask, who the fuck do you think you are and why the fuck do you think that you can get away talking to _me_ like that? Do you know who I am? Do you know what I could do to you?" He tapped the patch on his cut. _Sergeant-at-Arms. _George didn't know what that meant, but the guy seemed to think it was important.

"Do you know who I am?" George asked.

"Obviously fucking not, asshole." The guy sat up a little, so that their faces were closer together. To show that he wasn't backing down. Neither was George.

He wasn't an angry person. Not normally at least. He'd inherited a sneaky temper though, and when the right chord was struck inside his chest, rage came shuddering out. It was a knee jerk reaction always lying prone within him, a clenched tiger of fury waiting for the right moment to strike. Reese liked to say that it was the only bit of DNA Book Cardinal contributed to his son.

"George Cardinal. Mattie is my goddamned sister. If you know her as well as you say you do, then you should know exactly who I fucking am."

He grew silent, watching George, studying him, like he was trying to figure out if what was said was true or not. "You're Book's other kid?"

"Yeah. George. And you are…?"

"Tig." Did anybody have a normal name around here? Tig, Book… No Joes? Steves?

Tig rose to his feet, but not before giving a little nod of recognition. George wasn't really looking for an apology, though. Still too pissed. "Is Mattie here? Or was this little pissing contest just for fun?"

"Hey, man, I didn't know. Gotta make sure that some asshole coming in off the street doesn't want to harass our girls." George felt himself mentally vomit. "She's not here, but if you wait a second, I can get Bobby for you."

Bobby? That sounded familiar, but George wasn't sure. Reese had been careful not to let George near the club, like she was afraid that from the moment he stepped on the property they'd brainwash him. He thought she was overreacting, but hearing Tig talk about Mattie, well… Maybe there was more truth in that then he'd like to consider.

Tig left the office and told George to stay put, not like he had much of a choice. After calling the apartment in the city and getting no answer for weeks- like an idiot, he'd lost Mattie's cell number when he switched new service provider- Patrick finally picked up and told George that his sister didn't live there anymore. _She went back to that redneck piece of shit town that I saved her from. If she wants to get killed by those felons she loves so much, who am I to stop her?_ So, on a whim, George got on a plane and flew up to Charming. Rented a car and drove to Teller-Morrow Automotive in the hope that Patrick was right. If she was going to go all the way back across the country, she'd go straight to the place where she grew up. Otherwise, George had no way of figuring out where the hell Mattie had gotten to.

A few minutes later, Tig returned, with a shorter, heavier man on his heels. He definitely didn't have the same nasty disposition as Tig, and smiled broadly the moment he laid eyes on George. Bobby- it must've been Bobby, since the little patch on his mechanic's shirt proclaimed it in italicized red thread- had long curly hair, a sandy brown twisted with large patches of grey. Bobby… Why did George know that name?

"Holy shit, kid. Holy shit." Bobby barked, voice disbelieving. "Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny twelve year old at Mattie's high school graduation."

Bobby extended a hand, which George took, but the older man pulled him into a gruff hug instead. Now George just felt stupid for not recognizing him. A familiar feeling, but not necessarily a comforting one either.

And the clue, the graduation, that didn't help much. Mattie had one of the largest cheering sections in the bleachers, a gigantic black leather mass, and it was also ten years ago, so no, George still had no idea.

"Hey, Bobby, if you were taller, and you know, not as fat, you two would kinda look like twins." Tig commented, smirking.

Maybe that was true. Both had curly hair, small eyes, and long oval faces. George's was a little thinner and less lined, but the similarity was there. Wait a second…

"Uncle Bobby?" Reese's brother. The one that she absolutely loathed. Not that she was close with most of her family, but she'd always been particularly unruly about her oldest sibling.

"Yeah! Jesus Christ, kid, ain't you supposed to be at school or somethin'? Your mama would slit my throat she knew you were talkin' to me. I ain't her favorite sibling."

That was putting it mildly. "She doesn't know I'm here. And I graduated at the end of May." It wasn't easy, but he managed it. A lot of tutoring and a lot of professor charming went into his passing grades. Maybe it would've been better if George inherited more of those Cardinal smarts.

"Good for you. Matt's not here, but she'll be more than glad to see ya. Gimme a minute to change out this grease monkey ensemble, and I'll escort ya." Bobby grinned again. "Jesus Christ. You're a fucking giant. Book would've been proud as hell to see ya."

With that, Bobby left, leaving Tig and George alone again. He thought about just heading out to the CR-V, but figured that it might seem like a bitch move. And he hadn't dealt with Tig before just to give all that hard-earned semblance of respect away. So George stood, leaning against a filing cabinet, very much aware of the fact that Tig was staring at him.

"Who are you? You know, to my sister?" George asked, feeling bolder than he'd been upon their first meeting.

"It's not really any of your business, kid." Tig replied, shrugging.

"It is. Mattie comes back to Charming, she's here for what, a couple months, and she's what, your girlfriend already? I don't buy that. She doesn't collect boyfriends like baseball cards. I might be the younger sibling, but that doesn't mean I can't watch out for her."

Tig actually laughed. "Boyfriend? Christ, that sounds weird as hell. I ain't been nobody's 'boyfriend' since the tenth fucking grade. Mattie and I, kid, you don't gotta worry about us. Separate ways and all that bullshit."

First she's his _girl_, now he's given her up? Sensing that things were much more complicated than Tig was willing to discuss, George let it be. The world the Sons of Anarchy lived in was way beyond his capacity to understand.

Reese always said that Charming was a hellhole, but driving through town behind Bobby, George thought she was wrong. Sure, things were smaller and there was no McDonalds or Burger Kings- George spent a lot of the time in the gym, and those two establishments were the reasons why- but it was cute. Quaint. And it certainly did not look like it had an outlaw MC within its borders. People were walking around and doing their business, shopping and talking and living their lives. His mother lied about quite a lot, apparently. She said that everyone living in Charming was afraid of all the violence the Sons caused. These people certainly didn't look like all the motorcycles and leather were disturbing their livelihoods.

Maybe Mattie was right all those times when she said Reese was a crazy bitch.

They pulled up to Mattie's house maybe ten minutes later, a two-story brick number that had a well-manicured lawn and couple rose bushes lining the space below the front porch. It was much different from the contemporary black-and-white monstrosity of an apartment that she and Patrick had in New York. He'd never felt like her presence there, like Mattie was invited to live in Patrick's home but not allowed to touch or change anything.

George could hear the piano as he jogged up the front stairs, the keys of the instrument striking loudly and quickly, Mattie's hands concocting a symphony of sounds. He closed his eyes and listened, just like he did when he was just a little boy. If he'd had a bad day, or he couldn't get to sleep, he'd smuggle the phone into his room and ask his sister to play for him. And then he'd put the receiver on his pillow, let the music lull him into peace or sleep, depending on the situation. No matter how late George called, Mattie never refused. They might not have grown up in the same home, but she always tried her best to take care of him.

But the music spilling through now was sad, all trembling minor notes, completely unlike what she used to play for him. What had Tig said back at Teller-Morrow? _Separate ways and all that bullshit?_ George didn't know a whole lot about her sister, but he was sure she didn't take relationships lightly. Once she'd said that besides Patrick, she'd only had two other serious boyfriends. One when she was still in high school and another that lasted a couple years, until she went to New York. The latter she'd refused to speak about whenever George asked, so he'd learned to leave it alone.

What if Tig was the guy she'd started dating just after graduating Charming High until her senior year at Berkeley? Christ… George did not want to imagine that shithead with his barely eighteen-year-old sister. Hopefully, he was reading way too far into things, or else, well, he might vomit up that burger he'd had on his way into town.

When Mattie answered the door wearing a slightly confused expression that looked immediately familiar- George made the same face whenever he felt clueless, so, more often than he'd like to admit- he wasn't sure whether to jump on her or take a step back. But she smiled. So George swept Mattie up in a tight hug, listening to her gentle laughter as he squeezed tight. She was smaller than him, probably by a good foot or so, and at first glance they didn't look much alike, but there were similarities. Same hazel eyes, same curls, just in different colors. Her spirals were a bit tighter and more controlled than his, but he attributed that to the healthier dose of Cardinal in her veins rather than his mostly Munson blood.

Or at least, that's always how Reese used to describe the differences between brother and sister.

"What the fuck are you doing in Charming?" Mattie asked, delighted despite her choice of words.

"I think I should ask you the same thing!" He retorted, following her inside. "I showed up at Teller-Morrow and Bobby agreed to bring me here."

Bobby shot a look towards Mattie, one that George couldn't read. "He met Tigger."

"My Tigger?" What the hell was with their possessiveness of one another? "How'd that go?"

"You know any other Tiggers hanging out at the garage, baby girl? And it went about as well as it could've, considering the circumstances." Another sharp glance accompanied Bobby's reply, which made a furrow appear between Mattie's brows. George was clearly missing something very important.

"As long as nobody's dead, I guess." Mattie said slowly.

"I'll let you two catch up, then." Bobby pointed at Mattie. "And Gemma wants you at dinner on Thursday night. No excuses. She'll drive over here and throw your ass in her Caddy. Don't make that necessary."

Their uncle left then, giving the two siblings a moment of silence before either of them spoke. But a small voice cut in before George had a chance to explain himself.

"I heard a motorcycle, Mattie! Is Tigger here! Or Jax? Or Uncle Bobby?" A little boy came bounding into the room, his hair all disheveled. He looked at George for a second before tucking himself behind Mattie's legs. That little face clearly read _stranger danger_.

"Well, Uncle Bobby just left," Mattie's voice was calm, soothing, "But this is my brother, George. And George, this is Moby."

Mattie didn't have a kid. George might only see her once in a blue moon, but she surely would've told him during one of their phone conversations. Well, he hoped.

"I thought Jax was your brother." Moby said quietly.

"I said Jax and Opie were like my brothers. We have different parents. George and I have the same mom and dad." Mattie said 'mom' with a bit of edge in her voice, like she wished it wasn't true.

"Jax said that he was your brother, though." The little boy frowned, confused. George knew the feeling. "At Abel's party. I remember. And Gemma is your mama. He said that too."

George shot her a confused glance, but Mattie offered no explanation, just lifted Moby up, resting him on one hip. "Come on, buddy. I guess nap time is over, so let's get you some coloring books, and you can hang out while me and George talk.

By the time that Moby was scribbling with content, the siblings were settled on the couch, half watching him, half waiting for the other to talk.

"He's not yours, right?" George asked quietly, motioning towards the kid.

"No." Mattie laughed quietly, before adding, "It was a one time babysitting gig that kind of got extended. I grew up with Lowell, his dad. He works at TM. Moby spends a couple days of the week with me, a couple at summer camp, and then Mobes goes home with Lowell once his shift at the garage is over."

"And why does he think somebody named Jax is your brother? Or some Gemma woman is your mom?" He had to know. Mattie and Reese were George's only family, so to find out that she had more waiting in the wings, replacements for both him and his mother, felt strangely like betrayal.

"Because… George, you know that Reese isn't my mom. Yeah, she gave birth to me, but she didn't raise me. Gemma did. Jax is her son. We've been attached at the hip for most of my life." Mattie sighed. "If you were around, if Reese let Daddy see you more than once a year, you'd know exactly who they were, and what they mean to me."

"So, what, you just disowned your own mom? Me?"

"Mom- Reese- yes. You? Never. You know that, George. We've had this conversation before." She had that patient, older sister voice down pat. "I've only got one brother who shares the same blood as I."

"Yeah, but you never told me that you had a whole other family."

"It's not my _other _family, it is my family. That's what the MC is, George, a family. A messy, crazy family. Reese didn't want you raised like that, so she took you away. If she'd stayed closer, if she let Dad have some custody, they'd be your family too. Blame her, not me."

"Yeah, well, I need you to help start my family before July 20th." George huffed, not realizing what he said.

"What does that mean?" Mattie raised an eyebrow. "You're getting married."

Why did she have to be so goddamn smart? Putting two and two together like that. "Yeah. My training camp starts the next day."

"Training camp… As in football? As in the fucking NFL?" Mattie exclaimed, suddenly excited. "I tried to call you like thirty times since you graduated! Why didn't you ever pick up the phone and tell me all this?"

"So… you were the unknown caller that kept lighting up my phone?" George admitted, feeling more idiotic than usual. He never picked up a number he didn't know. "Shit."

"Jesus Christ! Who are you playing for, George? Who?"

He'd forgotten that Book instilled that love of football in her. "San Diego."

"The motherfucking Chargers? You asshole! You fucking asshole!" Mattie seemed to forget that Moby was in the same room; four lettered words- although motherfucking was more like thirteen- cluttering her speech. "You're going to be fucking famous! You're going to be important!"

"I'm just a rookie, Matt. Calm down."

"I'm so proud of you, George Harrison. I'm so proud." Mattie declared, grinning. "Dad is proud too, I bet. Wherever he is."

Hearing her say that made George believe it. She would know best. "Thank, sis."

"Anytime, kiddo. So what's this about a wedding?"

George looked up at his older sister, and wished that they'd been raised together. Whether by Reese or Gemma, he didn't care. Because being close to that sort of unconditional love felt damn good. His mother loved him, yeah, but not in the same sort of patient, adoring way.

For once, George Harrison Cardinal, the self-professed dumb Cardinal, did something to make his older sister proud. Usually it was the other way around.

He didn't expect her to agree to come to San Diego so quickly, though.

* * *

><p>Mattie had a suitcase on her bed, a duffel bag laid out on the loveseat next to her bookcase. Jax hovered angrily near the doorframe separating the bedroom from her closet, chain smoking like a mad man, letting the ashes drop to the floor. Normally, she would ask him what the hell he was doing, but she was afraid of what she might say instead.<p>

"So, you're really doing this?" Jax asked again. She'd already answered it three, maybe four times, and none of what she said seemed to make a difference.

"It's going to be for a couple weeks, a month at most. I'll be in the same state, just a little father south."

When George told her that he was getting married, and that he wanted her to help plan the wedding, she'd only asked one question. _Is Reese going to be around_? When he replied with a quick but resounding no, Mattie agreed. Yeah, she should've said something about two twenty-two year old kids heading off to the altar, but hell, Mattie was that age when she got married to Patrick. It didn't end well, but… she wasn't about to rain on his parade. George was happy-go-lucky, he was in love, and didn't need a speech.

Her heart was broken- when it came to Tig, cleaved in two was probably a better phrase- and she needed to get away for a little while. It wasn't running, not if she planned to come back. Mattie wasn't packing all her belongings, she wasn't saying goodbye, she was just going on a fucking vacation. Jax was taking things way too seriously. San Diego was what, eight hours away? No matter how Mattie explained herself, he kept getting more and more worked up, fluctuating between anger and anxiety.

"You said that the last time, Matt. You said you were going try things out and then you stayed for six years. Miles are miles, no matter how many you put between yourself and Charming. The distance changes things." Jax said, leaving his perch to pace again. That gave Mattie an opportunity to get back into her closet.

"No, it doesn't. For a change, I want to be there for my brother. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's the fucking suitcase that makes me mad! Go down on the weekends, just for a couple days at a time, don't move there."

"It's not that big of a deal, Jackson. I promise. I'll come back." Mattie was so goddamn tired of discussing it. It was a mistake to tell him in the first place.

Jax knew that she and Tig were not getting along whatsoever. Not the whole of it though, because Mattie wasn't sure if he knew exactly what happened to Donna. And she wasn't about to open her mouth and get herself killed. He'd spared her that morning, for reasons she still wasn't sure of.

It was the first time she'd ever been in possession of far more information than she was entitled to, and it was all David fucking Hale's fault. What did he want by coming by and telling her all those things? Did he know that it was enough information to guarantee a bullet in her brain? Enough to fill her with doubt about where she was in life? Mattie was supposed to be smart, she'd heard it for her whole life, but she'd still fallen in love with a killer.

Mattie had always been able to separate the two parts of Tig. She saw all the facets, how they joined together and made the man. He'd always been more than just a executioner to Mattie, and now… she was sure that she imagined all the human parts of him. He wasn't a protector; he wasn't a good man who did bad things. Tig was a murderer who genuinely enjoyed all the carnage. Mattie saw it. He pressed a gun into her ribs and made it completely clear. She still had the bruise to prove it.

He might as well have killed her. It would've made things a lot easier and a shitload less confusing.

Because, really, what kind of a person was Mattie if she fell in love with a bastard like him?

"Why are you giving Tig this kind of power? What did he do to scare you away?" Jax was shaking with rage now, cigarette trembling between his fingers. "Because I know that this isn't just about Donna, just like last time it wasn't just about your dad."

Jax didn't know what happened between Tig and Mattie the first time. If she told him back then, he would've killed Tigger. She had no doubts about that. "It's… yes, it's more than losing her. I'll admit that. But it's nothing that you need to worry about."

"He tortures you, Mattie. He treats you like shit and it's like you fucking enjoy it. I'm beginning to wonder if you're just as sick as he is." He sighed. "I can't change things if you won't talk to me. You're my little sister. I need to help you. Christ, I couldn't save Donna, so please, let me save you."

Mattie opened her mouth for a second before she thought about what he said. Why would Jax think he could've saved Donna? Because the story was that her death was caused by gang retaliation, so intervention wasn't exactly possible. Unless… Jax knew that it was Tig. He knew that it was supposed to be Opie. That was why things were so strange between him and Clay lately, why he was practically MIA at the funeral. The cuts and scrapes on him and Tigger… they must've gotten into it. Jesus fucking Christ. Jax knew and he was trying to keep her in Charming anyway? Keep her near Tig?

"W-what do you mean by that? Saved her from a nondescript black SUV with an unidentified driver?" Mattie asked, testing him. Jax wouldn't kill her, but… information had a habit of getting out.

"You know what I mean. Stopped her from switching cars with Ope or kept her a little longer at the party." Jax shrugged it off, but there was a strange glint in his eyes. Like he knew the complete truth of what happened.

"Jax, you don't think that's what happened to Donna, do you?"

"I know that's-" He stopped suddenly. "Shit. You know. You _know_. How?"

"Hale. He came by that night and told me everything he thought he knew, and I confronted Tig about it, and… he couldn't say no. He didn't say yes, but he didn't bother denying it. That's why we haven't gone anywhere near each other. We got into it."

Jax flared his nostrils, like he did whenever he was trying to contain his anger. "How _into _it? You've never been afraid of the asshole before. What did he do?"

"Nothing." She didn't break their eye contact, didn't flinch, but he saw right through it.

"If he touched you, if he hurt you, Mattie-"

"I'm fine. No need to start shit within the club because Tig and I had a fight. I just want to get away from him for a while, get away from all the grief. Do you understand why now?"

Jax shook his head. "You're going to tell me what he did because I will not leave until you do. I will not let you leave. Don't brush me off, don't make excuses for him, because I need to know."

Mattie, without thinking, reached for the hem of her t-shirt, barely fingering the light yellow cotton. Shit. Jax just watched her, waiting. Didn't he know what Tig would do if he found out that she told somebody that she knew about Donna? He knew what Tigger was capable of, that he could and would hurt Mattie, no matter what kind of relationship they once had. If he thought that she would get in the way of club business, that she would upset things, it was only a matter of time before she was dead.

"Mattie." Insistent. "Tell me."

"It's okay, Jackson. It's okay."

He strode across the room confidently, and pushed her hands away from her clothing, fixed them by her sides. Mattie just stood straight, waiting for him to stop his little examination. It wasn't like he'd ever find that spot underneath her sternum, to the right a little bit, in that soft bit of flesh there. Breathing didn't hurt anymore, but her skin was a livid purple that looked worse than it was. Or maybe, it matched the amount of pain and Mattie wasn't quite ready to admit that Tig actually wanted to injure her.

"He's already gotten to one of my girls." His voice was soft. "Who else knows that you know?"

"Just Hale and Tig. And you now." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I would never tell anybody else. I know what it would do to Opie and the rest of the club. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Jesus Christ, Matt, I know that. We ain't gonna off you, baby girl." His blue eyes flashed. "He threatened to kill you. That motherfucker threatened to kill another innocent woman."

"I'm not innocent, he was right, I know too much."

"Yeah, but it ain't your fault! It's not like you asked for the truth, Hale just couldn't keep his conscience out of things. Deputy Chief, my ass. Keeps putting you into danger."

"So just let me leave for a few weeks while things settle. Let Tig's rage dull a little bit."

"The moment you leave Charming, Tig is gonna freak. Last time… it didn't end well. He went to your apartment in Berkeley and trashed the place. It was nearly impossible to convince the super not to call the police." Jax lit another cigarette. "Tig seems his normal fucked up self until you're gone, and then he explodes. I don't see this bein' any different. Even if he caused it."

Mattie thought about coming back and seeing her beloved house in shambles. There was an alarm system, not that it would do very much to deter Tigger. "I need to go. I already agreed to go. Plans have been set in motion and I can't stop them. He's nearly fifty fucking years old. If he doesn't know how to handle his shit, it's not my fault. I bend and I break for him and it's never enough until I'm gone. I honestly don't care anymore, Jax."

"I know. I know." He sighed. "Sometimes, I think it would've been a better idea for you to have stayed in New York."

"Yeah, but it wasn't a solution."

"Maybe."

"Jax… I can figure things out. I promise you. All I need is a little time. What happened between Tig and I, it's okay. I'm older, wiser, all that shit. What took me six years the first time should only take me the couple weeks I'm in San Diego. I just need to get used to the idea that this time, we might not go back to being Tig and Mattie. Ever. Just need to process that for a bit." Mattie said, watching the blonde stop his pacing. There were probably marks in her floors from all his footsteps.

Normally Jax didn't want to talk about Tig. He always thought that their relationship was something with an absolute end date, that by the time Mattie started college, things would be completely over. But they weren't. She was surprised too, figured Tig would be living it up while she was gone, celebrating the fact that he didn't have a girl holding him down. Tig always said that Mattie was more trouble than she was worth, teasingly, but with a hint of truth in his words. She was an obligation. Something he'd gotten himself into and couldn't get out of. Mattie wasn't needy, she didn't demand his attention, she understood that the club was always his first priority and didn't try to change that. Time would go by and her feelings would become dull, achy tinges in her chest, knowing that Tig really didn't care half as much as she wanted. Then he'd show up unexpectedly, tell Mattie that he missed her, that he needed her, and she'd always believe it. Always.

Mattie should have her own life, have her own friends and be starting her own family, but here she was, back in Charming, still getting her heart broken by Tigger. Same as she'd been doing ten years ago. She was as much to blame as he was, though. Maybe more.

"You never told me what he did the last time. Nobody ever knew." Jax practically whispered. "Was it worse? Than him threatening to kill you?"

"I thought so at the time. But I was young. Everything felt like life and death back then."

"What did he do?"

"Jax, come on. It's not important anymore." That, and Mattie wasn't sure what would happen if the words came out of her mouth.

She only broke down in front of Tig. It was just how things were.

"To me, it is." He dropped the cigarette butt to the hardwood, stomped on it with the heel of his bright white sneaker. Must wipe them down every goddamn day, since they always looked brand new. "Because it made you leave for six years, and that's a lot of time to fix a problem."

Mattie dropped a shirt into her suitcase, before flopping onto her bed. She always knew that she'd eventually have to tell somebody what happened, but not Jax. He didn't handle certain things well, especially when it came to her and Tig. Overprotective to a fault, Gemma always said. Plus, it was information Mattie didn't want going around. Sensitive information that could break her. Mattie didn't think about what she lost, didn't talk about it, and certainly didn't process it.

"Do you remember my senior year at Berkeley? Late 2001, early 2002." She tried her best to keep her voice even. For now, her tone was serious but steady, though there was no guarantee that it'd last.

"Yeah, guess so."

"Do you also remember what happened that fall? To me, I mean. To Tigger too, I guess, if you want to get technical about it." Mattie's hands clenched hard when she saw Jax nod, since she did not want to explain more than was necessary. "When I was… pregnant."

"Of course I do. Christ, I don't think I ever saw your dad so pissed or excited. Book loved the idea of being a grandfather more than he wanted to admit, even if Tig was the dad."

"I was just about six months that spring break. Probably the only graduating senior that spent that week in her hometown instead of Mexico. When it happened, when shit came crashing down, Tig was with me. We went to the hospital, he held my hand, got me ice chips, and then the doctor came in and explained what happened. That I- we- lost the baby. And then he left. Walked straight out of St. Thomas and never came back. I didn't see or speak to him again until my dad's funeral in June." Matt paused for a second. "I asked David to take me home. He's the only person who ever knew what Tig did."

"He abandoned you." It was just a quick statement, no emotions attached. "Tig left you there. Alone."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell anybody what he made you go through?" He was quiet as he settled next to her on the mattress, their bodies resting against each other.

"I don't know. By the time I had the miscarriage, I was too distraught to actually talk about what happened. It's still hard. Like I said, David Hale was the only person who knew the whole story. I think Gemma had an idea, but she never asked me directly. Maybe Tig talked to her, I'm not sure. He always goes straight to your mother whenever he does something bad." Mattie forced a chuckle and Jax echoed it.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I'm sorry that he is such an asshole."

"I think he got used to the idea of getting another chance to be a father, and when it got taken away, well, Tigger doesn't exactly have the best coping mechanisms. Not really a crier, that one." Mattie replied, letting her head fall onto Jax's shoulder. Things had not felt so hopeless in a very long time, but she was glad to have him so close.

"Guess you're right. Doesn't make it any better, though."

"Nothing really does. No quick fixes, just time."

"I could kill him." Jax whispered conspiratorially, "He deserves to die, not just for you, but for Donna. A lot of other shit too, I'm sure."

The words didn't feel like hers when she said them. "Maybe he does."

"You just sayin' that so I won't pick a fight?"

"I don't know. I love him, but I hate that I love him. But I tried the regular route, you know? I've tried to date normal guys, ones that have never been to jail, that have never killed anybody, and it never works. The Sons of Anarchy is in my blood. There is no typical life for me. No American dream. I understand that. That's what took me so long in New York, because I didn't want to acknowledge that my place was here, in Charming. I can exist in other places, but I can only _live_ here. Dad always said that I was the first Cardinal in three generations not to kill on command, but that doesn't mean that I'm a civilian."

"Your dad never wanted you to be an Old Lady, though. Especially not Tig's."

"I know. And I'm not, right? It's like… I don't know how to explain it. Somehow, we keep going back to each other. We're always on the path of collision, whether it ends badly or not. I can't stop it." Mattie smacked her hands together to illustrate her point. "You know how magnets work. Opposites attract, but point the same poles at each other, and they repel. As cliché as that comparison is, that's the only one that makes sense. Sometimes we work, and sometimes we don't. But we're attached to one another, no matter what."

"That's incredibly jaded."

"It's the truth."

Jax stood again, going to light another smoke, but as he glanced inside the pack his face fell. Empty. Mattie pulled her barely touched pack of Pall Malls out of her nightstand and tossed them over. This was the kind of conversation that could only be stomached through chain smoking.

"What if there was somebody else? What if there was an option that wasn't Tig but not an outsider, either? Someone that I trust."

Mattie knew whose name he was going to say. And she didn't know how that made her feel.

"Chibs?" She raised an eyebrow. "You saw what happened at Piney's party, Jax. Tig is way too possessive to let anything happen."

"Fuck him. He doesn't own you. You don't have his crow. And Chibs cares about you, Matt."

"Yeah, but if I jump from Tig to Chibs, it sets a precedent. It makes me a whore. No better than the croweaters and sweetbutts. I know how things work. And then I'd be up for grabs, for everyone."

"No, you wouldn't. You're-"

"It doesn't matter whose daughter I am, or whose niece. Those are the rules. That's how things work. I'm not an exception because of my family. I won't be a pass-around, Jax. I'd rather suffer with Tig or suffer alone than succumb to that fate."

Jax was silent. Because he knew that she was speaking the truth. It was one thing to be with Tig and not be his Old Lady, but still have access to the club. If she ended up in Chibs' bed, it diminished her status, made her just another whore. Mattie would rather stay on her miserable, lonely peg then turn into one of those rode-hard-and-put-away-wet women.

"Okay, Mattie. Okay. So what are you and Chibs? Friends? Because that doesn't work either."

"I don't know. I'll think about it while I'm in San Diego." Mattie retorted. "So, are you going to let me go now?"

"I guess I fucking have to, right?"

"Yeah. Kinda." She grinned. "I'll be back soon, Jax."

"Better be. Abel needs his aunt. And Ellie and Kenny need their godmother."

"I know. I saw them a couple days ago. We went to park and then out to lunch. They miss their dad, though. I haven't seen Opie since the funeral." She said, turning to zip her suitcase closed. There were only enough outfits in there to last until the wedding, and then she'd have to go home. She'd add another bag, but there was a definite probability that Jax would flip another shit.

"Not the only one that needs to get away, I guess. Mary's watching the kids until he comes back around. I don't know how I feel about that, but I can't really do anything."

"They seem to be okay so far. Don't worry about it until it starts to be a problem." Mattie strode across the room to kiss Jax on the cheek. "I've gotta head out and pick up a few things before tomorrow. Wanted to hit the roads before ten, give myself enough time to drive down."

"Thought that I might distract you and get you to stay in town another day. And now, as much as I want to keep you away from Tig, I'm worried you might not come back. More so than before you told me all that shit."

Mattie frowned. She wasn't leaving Charming forever. The pathetic little life she made there was more than anything she ever had in New York. Sure, no job and no man, but she had a home and her family. Moby too. People who'd miss her. Not Tig, but Mattie was getting to the point where that didn't matter anymore. She'd made peace with it. Jax would never understand because his relationship with Tara was completely different from Mattie and Tig's, but it didn't make her union any less important. Things were hard right now, and they would probably be for a long time, but Mattie could make it through.

The tattooed words between her shoulder blades were a constant reminder.

_It's only when you lose everything that you're free to do anything_.

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><p><strong>AN: I was going to post this last night, but I was absolutely exhausted after editing and changing a few things. Hopefully this chapter wasn't too sappy or too confusing, but I think I'll stick with the present day for another few posts before doing another flashback. Anyhow, thanks so much for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	28. Chapter 28

_I was prepared to love you_

_And never expect anything of you_

_And there's no patron saint of sudden restraint_

_Baby there ain't no sword in a lake_

_There ain't no sword in a lake_

_There ain't no sword in a lake_

_Just a funeral wake_

_Weights and Measures – Dry the River_

* * *

><p>There was a certain something about San Diego that didn't feel right to Mattie, but she could not say why. Perhaps it was the overwhelming heat, all the diversity- there was just one ethnicity in Charming, white people- or how it made her think of New York. The city reminded Mattie that there were hundreds of miles between her and Tigger, the man that she loved more than she ever liked to admit. Being around her brother and his fiancé was great; they were fun and young and liked to do more than sit around the clubhouse and rough house with the boys. But seriously, if George asked her to go hiking one more time before the wedding, Mattie might just drive her ass back to Charming.<p>

But she only had one more night in San Diego. The rehearsal dinner would be tonight, the wedding tomorrow, and then Mattie would be on her way back to Charming as George and Jessie went on their fancy, expensive honeymoon. Her job as big sister would be over, and then forward onto normal life. Well, as _normal_ as her life could be. George asked if Mattie wanted to stay in San Diego, if she liked it enough to live there permanently, but she had no idea how to answer that without lying one way or another. Charming wasn't perfect, hell, pretty fucking far from it, but San Diego didn't feel like home whatsoever. She didn't want to get trapped in that city like she'd been in New York, but it was so goddamn good getting to know her younger brother. It felt like her family had suddenly gotten nice and round, although George still had no idea why she considered the Sons of Anarchy her family. _They're not related by blood. Except Uncle Bobby. You don't have any biological ties to the rest of them._ No matter how Mattie explained things, he never understood.

Most of all, he was confused about her relationship with Tig. She hadn't told George about their last meeting, about the gun pressed into her gut, how Tigger killed her best friend and was willing and able to kill Mattie too. _He's too old for you, he's a criminal, he's creepy_, all arguments George used in order to convince her that Tig was all wrong. Didn't her brother know that she understood that? They were reasons that she'd considered at seventeen, at twenty-one, at twenty-eight, but they never seemed to make a difference. Mattie wanted to hate Tigger, wanted to despise him enough to never need to be with him again, but it didn't work that way. It was like her body, her mind, they were wired to respond only to him.

Every time Mattie thought he was out of her life forever, one of them went crawling back to the other.

And as much as she wanted to hold out, fuck, she didn't know how much longer she could. It was weak, it was stupid, but damn, it was hard to ignore. Maybe Tig did brainwash her. Made such an impression on her teenage mind that she would never be the same. She just… she didn't know. Tig was Tig, and Mattie was Mattie, and because of that, there would always be a Tig and Mattie. It'd been that way for ten damn years and it wasn't about to change anytime soon. She didn't expect George to understand when she rambled about Tig. Brother or not, he was still a SAMCRO outsider. He was a son that didn't get raised amongst the Sons.

It was too late for him to comprehend the life. Reese had seen to that.

Jax kept Mattie filled in on everything that was going on back home, how Abel was doing and how much Moby missed her. Lowell had Neeta watching Moby until Mattie got back, but she still felt guilty for leaving the little boy. But Moby was wise beyond his years, so when she explained that she needed to take a vacation- which was the child approved, abridged reason for her departure- he just nodded and told her have fun but come back soon. And then, with a little grin, asked her to bring back a present for him.

Bobby was coming home any day now, soon as Stahl got her bitch-ass together and started his release. No witness meant no trial, although Jackson left out the details of how said witness disappeared. That was okay. Mattie could guess what happened. Jax had also talked about Tig, how he was just a touch more reserved than usual and a whole lot more drunk. _I don't know how it's even possible, baby girl, but his insides are twisted. And as much as I like to see him suffer… I dunno. Seems cruel, almost. _

Cruel? _Cruel?_ Tigger murdered her best friend, and was a single decision away from offering Mattie the same fate. What was she supposed to do? Pat him on the back and tell him that it was all okay?

Take a life to save a life. It's what Mattie had heard since she was old enough to understand the concept. But then there was the old adage brains before bullets, and well, seemed like Tig didn't quite have a handle on that one. On one hand, Mattie understood why he didn't want to look Opie in the eyes while killing him, but on the other… Tig was a coward. She might not ever be able to say that to his face, but she knew it was true. She felt it every time she thought about fateful night.

Tig was never sloppy. Crazed, over eager, yeah, but not completely reckless. If it had been Opie- if he'd actually been proven a rat- maybe Mattie would've been able to scrape up some pity for Tig.

Instead, he made a mistake that she just wasn't ready to forgive.

In her worst moments, she always wanted to blame Stahl instead. That cunt had made Ope look unbelievably guilty, to the point where Clay questioned Opie's loyalty. _Opie. _Raised by a founding member, never had any dreams besides the MC _Opie._ Stahl must've pulled off some masterful tricks if she was able to get more than one Son to believe her lies.

And then there was David- who sat back and watched Stahl's puppetry routine without breathing a word. He could've saved a life that night. He could've protected Charming's citizens- which was his excuse for standing back, if she remembered right- and cooperated with SAMCRO in order to do it. Fuck his badge, fuck all the oaths. Donna would still be alive. Both sides of the law were responsible. Tig pulled the trigger, Clay ordered the hit, Stahl made Opie look like he flipped, and David watched it happen.

There were so many people bearing the weight of Donna's death that sometimes, Mattie couldn't hold Tigger solely responsible. She wanted to, so badly, because when she focused her revulsion towards him it made her feel less pathetic. Tig might have remorse for his actions, but Mattie didn't know if she wanted to forgive them. Donna was her best friend. Her sister. Now her children had no mother and their father was riddled with grief. According to Jax, Mattie wasn't the only one taking a vacation from life.

Beyond the scope of Donna's death- which Mattie wanted desperately to stop grieving, but it seemed her every thought lead straight to her best friend- there was Chibs, who she was sure didn't believe a single one of her reasons for hightailing it out of Charming. But there was no way that she could explain, that she could make a grand, sweeping confession without incriminating Tig and Clay in Donna's murder.

The last thing she needed was the threat of her own life being taken away by the Sons of Anarchy.

Chibs, however, was not deterred by Mattie's reluctance to talk about her 'vacation.' He, like Jax, called a few times with updates of life in Charming, usually stories of what Half-Sack or Juice had been up to. She thought some of his tales were pure fiction, but she appreciated Chibs' attempts to make her laugh. He blamed Tig for her disappearance, she could feel the Scots' jabs throughout their little chats, but he never pressed. He'd learned that Mattie kept her own secrets safe, that any and all attempts to elicit them would be ignored until she was good and ready for the discussion.

Just one of the reasons Mattie liked Chibs. They'd become unlikely friends since she came back to Charming, but she knew that he had some feelings for her. At Abel's party, when she decided to give up on Tig being a decent human being- which was before she discovered just how despicable he could be- she'd gravitated towards Chibs, towards the hands that he at first rested on her shoulders, later on the small of her back, and by the end of the night, encircled around her shoulders. It felt strangely comfortable, even if Tig had been staring daggers at both of them.

Abel had wound up in her arms some time before all the shit went down, bundled in his blanket with that little blue beanie on his head, and Mattie just held him close and marveled at the little boy. He was so small, so soft, so damn adorable. She didn't think about the child she'd lost very often, but she felt that absence heavily with Abel so close. Having a baby at twenty-one wouldn't have been glamorous, far from it, but she would've loved that kid with her whole heart. Tig too. He didn't talk about them too often, but he missed his girls, even if they were all grown.

Mattie and Tig's baby would've been a second chance at fatherhood. When she lost it… devastation was not even the right word. There was no adequate way to describe that sort of sadness. That sort of absence. Compounded with the fact that Tigger abandoned Mattie at the hospital, well, it was kind of a miracle that she eventually wound up somewhat whole. She still held it against him- the action completely warped their relationship- but it was such an old wound that she hardly felt the ache of it anymore.

Mattie once trusted Tig wholeheartedly. He wouldn't get that sort of allegiance ever again.

Chibs had cornered her while she held Abel, the baby fluttering his eyes shut, tired from all the fawning and cooing he'd endured over the past few hours. That's when he wrapped an arm around Mattie, tucking her neatly into his side. She could smell the scotch on his breath, hear the slur of it in his voice, but for some reason, didn't anticipate what he was going to say next.

"I don't know how often lover boy says it, but he's fucking lucky. If I had you, shit, baby, ain't a croweater in the word that would distract me. If I had you…" Chibs put his lips close to her ear, and she wanted to pull away, needed to, but stood still against the whisper. "If I had you, I'd never put you through the shit that he does."

And then he walked away, leaving Mattie's heart pounding. It wasn't conventionally romantic, but it was as close to a romantic gesture as a Son could manage. And it scared her. Fucking terrified her. Mattie had no idea what to do when another man tried to intervene in her relationship with Tig. She loved Tigger, even when he tortured her, but what sort of a woman did that make her? The abuse, the emotional back and forth, Mattie always just accepted it without question. Because that's who Tig was. She'd understood it at seventeen, and she understood it at twenty-eight. She never wanted to change him. That asshole, the cocky, crass, you-know-you-want-fuck me prick, that's what she'd fallen in love with. Somehow.

Tig had inadvertently saved her life when that one October back in 1997, and Mattie had been hooked ever since. It wasn't something that anybody could understand. Fuck, she didn't, and she'd loved him for a very long time. Mattie was lost in Tig without a way back. But she couldn't deny that Chibs intrigued her, that he made dumb little butterflies flutter in her chest when he said those things.

Jax always said that one day Tig would do something so unforgivable that Mattie would never allow herself to be with him ever again. She wanted to believe that, she really did, but she was so used to all the shit that honestly, whatever that big event he thought would occur probably did already.

Mattie wasn't a doormat. Really. She could stand up for herself, her family, but her words always failed when she was face to face with Tig. All the bullshit that she swore she couldn't take anymore vanished the moment they had the smallest confrontation.

In loving Tig, Mattie always ended up hating herself.

And now, on the day that she was supposed to be spending at the beach with Jessie had turned into a pity party. Jessie luckily didn't notice, she was busy soaking up the sun with her already golden skin, showing off her taut abs with her tiny bikini. Mattie, pale and just the littlest bit soft in the middle, was hidden underneath both a beach umbrella and a cover-up, pretending to be reading and instead just feeling sorry for herself. She loved the ocean, loved swimming, but hated all the skinny, pretty people enjoying the shore. Mattie wasn't nearly as teeny-tiny as all the girls running around on the sand, looking trim and sporty.

She was neither of those things. Mattie would never be a waif, all long limbs and jutting bones. Even when she was a teenager, she'd been curvy. Bigger tits, a decent amount of ass, hips that made her waist look deceptively narrow. Always a little extra layer of flesh over muscle that no amount of exercise would do away with. Hell, she'd tried, and tried hard, to be model-skinny when she lived in New York. It didn't work. Mattie had come to accept her shape a long time ago, hell, even liked it most of the time, but on days like this one, when nothing seemed to be going right, her body was just another thing to whine about. Men always seemed to like the way she looked, but she was a woman, and to her, all the proportions were wrong.

Jessie sat up, probably to flip over and roast her back, but instead propped up her sunglasses and smiled. George's fiancé was ridiculously nice, personable, and pretty much the opposite of every girl Mattie had known growing up. She was athletic and cheerful, always ready to do something fun. Mattie had gone out a couple times with her, to bars and clubs, and enjoyed herself.

Jessie and George seemed to fit together. They were young, yeah, but Jessie seemed to be the levelheaded voice of reason to George's naivety. Mattie, despite all that she'd been taught about outsiders, kind of liked her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

"You gonna stay wrapped up in that fancy cover-up all day?" Jessie teased. "I feel underdressed."

Mattie shrugged, trying to be a good sport. "I'm a little doughy for the suit I picked up on the trip down here."

Yes, that trip to Target had been a particularly ambitious one. Or maybe Mattie had just been in a better mood.

"Shut up. I bet the moment you let those puppies breathe, every man on the beach will run over, panting." She stood, the movement causing a little bit of sand to fly in Mattie's direction. "Come on, I'm boiling. Let's go for a dip, cutie pie."

The two girls had opted to leave their more expensive items in Jessie's pick up, just taking towels, something to read, and a cooler full of drinks with them. There was just a wrinkled twenty floating in the ice, so Mattie didn't exactly mind leaving her things unattended on the beach full of strangers. What she did mind however, was peeling off her gauzy cover-up and letting everyone see her lily-white fleshy skin. But Jessie had been so good to her in the past couple weeks that Mattie didn't want to turn her down.

So Mattie abandoned her extra layer of protection, and walked down to the shoreline with Jessie. Jessie's bikini was bright yellow and sporty, showing off her volleyball toned body- that's how she and George met, during a USC sports awards dinner at the end of their freshmen year- while Mattie's… didn't. Bright red with little white hearts printed all over the fabric that she swore barely covered her breasts and called attention to her not-so-trim middle, her bikini was not even close to the confidence booster that she needed.

Seriously, Mattie normally didn't care about what size she was. Tigger loved her curves- correction: her tits. But all the shit that was going on with him back in Charming seriously threw a wrench in her self-confidence. And the snarky wolf whistle from a buff asshole putting on tanning oil didn't help either.

"'Ey, Red! Come ova here, baby!" He called, and Mattie immediately flushed all over.

But Jessie just brushed it off with a little bit of laughter. "See, I wouldn't lie to you, Matt. All boys think you're sexy. Good thing George isn't here."

George? What about Tig? Jax? Hell, if they were in Charming, that prick would already have his ass handed to him. Maybe that was why Mattie felt so naked in San Diego. It wasn't the protection of the cover-up that she needed; it was her family back in Charming. That circle of safety that she'd come to depend on during her months at home. Being around SAMCRO had become so natural that regular people were starting to give Mattie the creeps. How fucked up was that?

They waded out into the ocean, the water refreshing as Mattie paddled out a little. She'd learned to swim at the Charming community pool- which didn't exist anymore, not since somebody dived in the shallow end, cracked their skull and sued- and had spent many a summer there. The SAMCRO babies played Marco Polo, splashed and got yelled at by both lifeguards and Gemma. Mattie remembered little Thomas floating around in his neon orange water wings, always throwing himself into their games and giggling when he lost.

It was at that very pool when Mattie first saw Tig's rage when her safety was threatened- even if, at the time, she hadn't even been in danger at all. The summer just after her sixteenth birthday- before she even considered the idea of her and Tigger- the air conditioning at the clubhouse was on the fritz, so some of the Sons had decided to head to the pool for some relief. She and Jax were horsing around, shoving one another back and forth. Hell, Mattie didn't even protest when Jax pushed her head underneath the water, knowing that she'd have a chance to return the favor, though she never really got the opportunity. The sound of a sloppy dive and a short scuffle erupted just as she surfaced, not anticipating the jostle of chlorinated waves. Jax and Tig struggled against one another, grunting and cursing while Mattie could do nothing but watch in confusion.

_If you touch her like that ever again, I'll kill you, you little shit. I'll kill you. _That's what Tigger howled while attempting to drown Jax, until Book clawed the Sergeant-at-Arms away. At the time, Mattie thought it had something to do with Jax's status as Prospect, a bit of club-inflicted hazing, but thinking back… maybe it wasn't.

Tig didn't particularly care about inflicting pain on women; violence was an equal opportunity activity. He'd always had a strange soft spot for Mattie though, even when she was little. As kids, when Jax and Opie would make a mess, got in his way, Tig would roar and act as menacing as possible, but when Mattie did the same thing; he'd just set his mouth in straight line and touch the top of head. She'd say that it something to do with the fact that he had daughters, but she knew that wasn't it. He did things like that before Dawn and Fawn were even born. Probably just because Mattie was a club kid.

Christ, when she thought about things like that, even she realized how creepy it made their relationship seem.

"Hey," Jessie's voice jarred Mattie from her memory, "Can I ask you a strange question?"

"Sure thing." Mattie replied, enjoying the sway of the waves.

"Well, I guess it's more a comment than a question. You have a lot of tattoos. I never noticed before."

Her tone was nervous for moment, and Mattie immediately realized why. The bridesmaid dresses were strapless with sweetheart necklines and showed a lot of back. Where most of her ink was located. Not just the little gems that Chibs had found that one day back at the garage, but a lot of the pieces she'd 'collected' over the years. Images, quotes, lyrics, whatever Mattie felt a strong connection to went onto her skin. At home, nobody would've questioned her tattoos, but here… fuck. Jessie had already picked out the dresses before Mattie came down, and the only time Mattie tried hers on was in the presence of the tailor, not Jessie.

"Yeah… I don't think about them most of the time." Mattie absentmindedly touched the archway etched on her hip. The one she'd gotten just before her birthday, that informal reference to Tig. Shit, why did every thought lead straight to him? "I can probably cover them up for the wedding."

"No! I mean, girl, it's no big deal. All those tattoos make you kind of like the coolest person I know. And you already did me such a huge favor by coming down and helping."

Mattie grinned at Jessie's little compliment. "It's no problem. I hardly see George; it's been great to get to be around him. And to get to know you, too."

"Seriously though, you have no idea how happy I am that I got to do this with you, instead of his mom. Your mom, too, I guess. If she was involved, I think Jesus might have been featured somewhere on our invitations." Jessie sighed. "George never really explained why you two were raised separately."

Mattie's stomach twinged and her mouth went dry. That story was in the realm of private things that she didn't talk about, especially not to strangers. But Jessie was about twenty-four hours away from being Mattie's sister-in-law. It was one of those times where Mattie wished Opie was around, because he always knew when she was uncomfortable about a topic of conversation. He'd direct it down a more manageable road to help Mattie out and never made a big deal about it. He understood her need to keep things under wraps.

And Reese… Mattie had so much unhealthy hatred for her mother that it probably wasn't a good idea to talk about her, however, she _was_ going to be Jessie's mother pretty soon, so the kid should at least have an idea about what she was in for.

"Did George ever tell you about our dad? I think that's a better starting point for this conversation." Evaluating how much Jessie knew about the Sons of Anarchy would give Mattie an idea of how to edit the truth.

"Ernest?"

Mattie flushed with irrational anger. Reese had been with Darby, leader of the Nords, right after she decided to rip Book in half. Even somehow convinced the poor fuck to marry her. How that made any sense- going from SAMCRO to the Nordics seemed like trading in a solid Chevy pickup for a bicycle with a basket full of crank- letting George grow up in that environment of white hate. Darby wasn't too much of an asshole though, and was always nice to Mattie when she was forced to visit Reese. It was her mother's next boyfriend, the murderous Hirsch, that tried to do Mattie in. The one that she had to shoot in the chest in order to save herself. Mattie wondered if her mother knew that it was her fault that her daughter had nearly died. Yeah, Hirsch was a sick prick, but it was Mattie's connection to Reese that got her in trouble. Not only did Reese abandon Mattie, she pretty much sent her own kid to the slaughter. Reese wouldn't be eligible for mother of the year for a long, long time, no matter how many times that bitch appealed to Jesus.

And the fact that George didn't recognize Book as his father was absolutely heartbreaking to Mattie. So fucking what if their dad was a criminal? He loved his children to no end, would've done anything for them. Because of Book, Mattie had an extended family on which to depend. George just had Reese. Now, that was damned depressing.

"No. Our father's name was B- Wyatt. He was a member of a motorcycle club. You know, mechanics, Harley-Davidson enthusiasts, that sort of thing. They live a very different kind of life from the one that you or George know. It's off the grid; it's kind of anarchistic, a lot of booze and good times to be had. Fighting, fucking, the whole nine yards. But it's a great big family. As corny as it sounds, everybody comes together and depends on one another."

"Wow." Jessie sighed, raising an eyebrow. Mattie took that as a cue to continue.

"George never grew up like that. He was two when Reese decided she couldn't take that sort of life anymore and left my father and me. Literally, one day she was fine, the next day, their bags were packed and she was gone. My dad fought for custody, but the courts gave him the barest of visitation rights. Reese never attempted to gain parental rights for me. But that was okay. Because really, she wasn't ever my mother." Mattie explained.

There were big gaping holes in the story, like the club's illegal activities, Book's title as MC hitman, how fast Reese went to Darby, but it was enough to explain things. Mattie never had any sympathy for her mother, because no matter what, your children were your children. You don't get to pick and choose. Yes, Mattie would never have consented to living with her mother, she was always more Book's daughter than Reese's, but her mother didn't even bother. Reese treated Mattie with barely-veiled disdain and disinterest until she got reintroduced to religion.

And then she became truly unbearable.

"Oh. That explains things a little bit better, I guess." Jessie frowned despite her light words, her gaze becoming more invasive. "George is worried about you, Mattie. He's not going to say it to your face, but he is. Said that he met your… boyfriend when he went up to Charming. And you just leaving New York without a word of warning, well, that freaked him out."

Boyfriend. What a silly word to attach to Tig. "George finds my life sort of incomprehensible. I left New York because I wasn't happy. Simple as that. I went home. People do that all the time."

"Not people with fiancés and jobs, Matt. I know we barely know each other, but George is especially nervous about your relationship. Says that your guy is rough around the edges and completely wrong for you." Jessie plead her case with just the littlest bit of trepidation. "I'm just telling you how he feels, though, because he's not going to say it himself. You're his big sister, and he wants to support you in whatever you choose to do. He doesn't want to see you go down the wrong path either."

Mattie didn't know what to say. She was used to Jax ripping Tig to shreds, but George? How sad was it if her younger brother was nervous about the choices _she_ was making?

But George didn't know her or Tigger well enough to say that he was completely wrong for her. Tig had tiny little redeeming factors that were hard for others to see, but obvious to her. He would always protect her; keep her out of trouble the best he could. And he'd never discuss it in front of his brothers, but Tig was always up for a home cooked meal and a movie with her and Moby. There were mornings when he woke up first and put coffee on for her. How he would leave a note on the kitchen table that said, _fly to the club later, birdie. _Despite his reluctance to even breathe the words, 'I love you," those touches were enough to convince her.

Although, the whole thing where he murdered her best friend was a big argument against all the points she was tallying inside her head.

"I know George's intentions are good, but he met Tig for about five minutes." Mattie thought about how to phrase the next part of her statement. "I love my baby brother, but he barely knows me. It's not his fault, and I know that. I promise you though; I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time. If I get hurt, I'll pick myself back up and try again. Plus, not all of us are so lucky to find our husbands at an awards dinner."

Try high school, for instance. Although, if Mattie ever tethered that word to Tigger, he'd probably have a shit fit. No, there were never going to be any legal documents binding them together. No receptions and ceremonies or invitations.

And honestly, Mattie was sort of fine with that.

"Okay, okay. I was just trying to tell you how George felt. I'll let him know that you're a big girl." Jessie smiled. "Whaddaya say we pack it in and head home? I've got a rehearsal dinner to get ready for and I've got sand in unspeakable places."

"Fine with me."

Mattie followed Jessie back to their things, which hadn't been disturbed during their absence. Wrapping a towel around her waist, she picked up her book and folded up her beach chair, getting all the odds and ends together before heading to Jessie's pick up. Mattie had thrown her cover up on for good measure, not because she felt overweight or nervous, just to soak up some of the extra salt water from her skin.

She was tired of feeling self-conscious. In the future, Mattie would have to remember not to go to the beach when she was having a rocky period with Tigger. Her thoughts were all jumbled and miserable, and without Donna to talk to, Mattie felt alone. That hole gaped, no matter how much she tried to ignore it in order to get past the loss. The fissure was always there, reminding Mattie of what Tigger had done. For once, Mattie wasn't the sole person hurt by his actions. She wondered how he was dealing with that.

Probably didn't even notice, the selfish prick.

Just like Mattie didn't notice the guy holding a bright orange towel over his arm. They smacked into one another, him losing a camera, Mattie dropping her beach bag.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" Mattie exclaimed, picking up the fancy Nikon that'd been dumped into the sand. "Did I break it?"

"Oh, miss, I don't think so. It's pretty tough."

"Are you sure? I can reimburse you if it's fucked." Mattie inwardly grimaced at her own language. In Charming, she was rarely forced to couch her four-lettered-words.

The man just smiled, but something about the motion seemed wrong. Mattie couldn't spot the wrinkle in his softly spoken brush off of the situation, but she could feel it in his dark eyed gaze. He looked normal enough, with short graying hair, and an average build. A sliver of tattoo was visible by his throat, part of a red circle outlined in black, but it was blocked by his high collared and long sleeved button down. Weather was a touch warm for that. Something, which Mattie still couldn't put her finger on despite her not-so-subtle assessment of his appearance, was wrong with him. Which, considering the people she'd been raised by, made her instantly wary.

Nobody would be that pleasant about their expensive camera taking a nosedive. Right? But Mattie blocked out her ill feelings and just grinned back at him. It wasn't time for a paranoid showdown anyway. She had places to be and sand to wash out of her delicate areas.

"It's alright, miss. Please don't worry."

"If you're sure. I'm sorry about bumping into you." She replied, glancing at Jessie, who didn't seem to be getting the same heebie-jeebies as Mattie.

"No problem, miss. Excuse me, though, I'm going to head down to the water. Please enjoy the rest of your day." He replied, bowing his head and smiling one last time before sweeping past the two girls.

As Mattie put her things into the pick up's backseat, she couldn't help looking over her shoulder. The mystery man had his eyes trained on her, that unsettling grin still on his lips. He waved before Mattie anxiously pulled her attention back to what she was doing. After tossing herself into the passenger seat, thankful for the tinted windows, Mattie searched for him once again. Gone.

Good.

"He was nice." Jessie remarked when they were on the road. "Polite, too. Should've gotten his number."

"I don't know. Not really my type."

"Too old?" Jessie asked.

"No…" Mattie searched for a word to describe him without pointing out his oddness. She couldn't think of one. "Yeah. Too old, I guess."

That strange feeling running up her spine didn't go away until the rehearsal dinner. Then, it would be replaced with another uncomfortable sensation- disgust.

Mattie was not sure whether she'd rather spend time with that weirdo from the beach or Reese. She was kind of leaning towards the former, although as luck would have it, she was seated directly across from the latter during the big rehearsal dinner.

Issues with Tig notwithstanding, Charming never looked so good.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ugh, I know it's been forever since my last post! Between tax season and a billion other distractions, I haven't gotten a chance to sit down with MS Word and get some writing/editing done. But I buckled down and got this all edited up to post, even if it took about a thousand years. Just to clarify, I'm not giving up on this story, just was a little overwhelmed with life and such for a while. Anyway, thanks so much for reading (and waiting for my slow ass to put up a new chapter) and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	29. Chapter 29

_In the blue of this life_

_Where it ends in the light_

_When you couldn't see_

_You would come for me_

_Wonder eyes motion high_

_When we don't dare slip on by_

_Make us suffer_

_Like no other_

_There's nothing like lapis lazuli_

_Let it go_

_Back to me_

_Like no other_

_You can't be replaced_

_Lazuli – Beach House_

* * *

><p>There was a pattern Tig went through whenever Mattie left Charming. The first week or so would be spent drinking and fucking, having a generally good time. Because in that period, he would have managed to convince himself that her absence was a good thing. No more ball and chain, you know, that sort of shit. Nobody to worry about besides himself and his brothers. The second week transitioned into more drinking and less fucking, or rather, Tig would settle for whatever piece of ass was hanging around the club instead of seeking out one of the more choice girls. By then, he was having a hard time getting through work at the garage, and would normally leave around his lunch break and spend the rest of the afternoon getting as shitfaced as possible. That's when he would waver between being glad Mattie was gone and just thinking about the fact that she wasn't in Charming anymore. The third week, well, if you were either Half-Sack or Juice- Tig's favorite targets- you certainly did not want to be around the Sergeant-at-Arms. He'd deteriorate into being an insufferable asshole, always in a mood to start fights and hurl insults. Because Tigger didn't do longing very well. He was an impatient man, and didn't like to wait for what was his. And he didn't want to admit that he actually missed Mattie. Tig hurt for her, someplace in his chest that he absolutely loathed, but he would never speak a word of those fucked up emotions.<p>

There were all these questions in his head, all these feelings that he couldn't sort out. That was something that Mattie was good at, compartmentalizing, putting things into tight little boxes that never saw the light of day. Tig needed to vent, to scream and to hit things, but his head was so jumbled that he couldn't figure out how to set things straight. He was goddamn anxious about her safety- but her life only seemed to be threatened when she set foot in Charming, as fucked up as that was. Was she still pissed at him? Was she still miserable about Donna? Was Mattie ever coming back? What if she found somebody else? Fell in love?

He only let himself think about that last concern in his lowest moments, when he was alone in his dorm and too drunk to get out of bed without falling on his ass. Tig already had to worry about her and Chibs, and that was right in front of him. He had no influence in San Diego. If she met some guy down there, what Tigger supposed to do? Wasn't like he could make some grand romantic gesture to win her back. He didn't do things like that. Even for Mattie, who deserved his love more than anybody else. Mattie, who he tried to kill.

It was Hale that he should've gone after. Or Stahl. Not his girl. The one that he was supposed to keep safe. Instead, Tig had pressed his gun into her stomach, had been a breath away from firing. What if he'd taken the shot? What if she was gone forever? Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Tig had to stop drinking. He was a one-man pity party, especially when nobody else was around. But that whiskey sitting on the bar was so convenient, and if he stumbled out into the yard, his brothers would know something was wrong. And that was the last thing he wanted. As far as they were concerned, Tig was the same stone-faced killer as he always was. It was easier with Opie gone to pretend that everything was normal. Seeing Ope, well, it was a hard thing to stomach. Tigger still hadn't made peace with what he did. Probably never would. Only four people know that it was Tig that killed Donna, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Guilt had a way of making tongues flap, as did liquor, but Tig never had a problem with the latter. Drowning himself in alcohol was the only way he knew to keep the demons away, and damn it, if that's what he needed to do, he'd keep doing it. Beer after beer, shot after shot, until he couldn't see or think straight. Until he didn't see Donna's lifeless eyes staring at him from the back of his eyelids. Or Mattie's eerily calm expression when he threatened to kill her.

Fuck. That was still hanging him up. How did he go from trying to save her life to trying to take it away? In his head, on that morning, where did that compulsion come from? Yeah, yeah, yeah, good of the club and all, but it wasn't like Mattie was an outsider. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. Book told her about his hits, for Christ's sake. Because he believed in full disclosure even if Matt was just his daughter. Mattie found out Tig's mistake, and he fucking flipped out. Wasn't even like she thought he was infallible or some shit, but somehow, Mattie knowing about that error set him into overdrive.

And then, not even two days later, Jax flies into the clubhouse with a bug up his ass, screaming at him, all red-faced. _You left her at the hospital? You left her alone to deal with that shit all by herself? You are the worst motherfucker I have ever met, Tig. You are the lowest scum of the goddamn Earth, Son or not. _It had taken him a second to figure out what the fuck the Prince was going on about- since Tig was about three beers and a fifth of whiskey into the day- before all the thoughts settled in his head. The baby. Tigger and Mattie's baby. Jax knew. It was the one secret that Mattie had never shared. Well, people knew about the kid, and that fact that she lost it- kind of hard to hide her belly at six months pregnant- but never the cowardly thing that Tig did.

At the time, he didn't think about it. He just needed to get out of the hospital, because he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, where loss fluttered in every corner. Tig loved that baby. His boy. Alex. It had been Mattie's idea to name him that. _It's not like you use it,_ she'd said with a smile as she rested a hand against her stomach. Tig hadn't much of an opportunity to be a father the first time, Colleen had made sure of that, but shit, he was excited to be Alex's dad. That kid would have a mop of curly, curly hair, bright blue eyes, be both a fighter and a softie. The ladies would've gone crazy for him. But then it was all gone. Those stupid scenarios that Tig had foolishly let himself dream about, playing catch and watching Mattie and Alex at the piano, teaching him how to punch, shoot- they were just fantasies, never to come true.

It was a strange feeling, to love somebody that he had to wait to meet, and then find out that it would never happen. Alex would never exist. He would just be a memory in the back of his parents' heads. A hard thing for a normal person to deal with, but somebody as fucked as Tig? Yeah… To say that he couldn't handle difficult emotions would be putting it mildly. So Tig gave in to the urge to run away. He couldn't look at Mattie without thinking about Alex, so he just cut out. Found a bar and camped out there. Tig didn't think he was a true alcoholic, but hitting the bottle hard and fast was the only way he knew how to sort out his feelings. Maybe not sort them out per se, but muddle them enough to ignore.

Did he think about what Mattie was going through? Truthfully… yes, but Tig was far too selfish an asshole to force himself past his freak out in order to stay by her side. She'd been nothing but loyal to him since she was seventeen, and he had to go and tear her to pieces. Mattie was only twenty-one at the time, and Tigger broke her. How was he supposed to look at his damage? Not only was he responsible for the life that'd died inside of her, but he also abandoned her when it happened. Tig couldn't… He just couldn't. As much as he knew that it would kill her, that'd ruin things between them, Tig couldn't stay. He was too heartbroken to see her misery.

But, seriously, how was he supposed to explain any of that shit to Jax? _Oh, well, I flipped out and became extremely selfish because I was afraid of breaking down in front of Mattie. And then I let her leave for six years. No big deal._ Tig knew exactly what horrible shit he'd done to Mattie. He knew exactly what sort of torture he put her through. His girl had gone through hell, for him. So many fucking times. And Tig never acknowledged it.

Jax knew that. So why was he making such a gigantic thing out of it? Tigger was an unappreciative prick that had a reputation for hitting women. Using them to get off and then kicking them out. But not Mattie- she was the one exception. Tig didn't know why she was allowed near his heart- hell, even why she still wanted to be- why she was the one girl he ever considered making his Old Lady. See, Colleen was his wife, but she was not really Old Lady material. Too flighty, too weak, not able to understand what Tig did for his club. Maybe that was the difference. Mattie understood SAMCRO. Hell, it was practically in her genetics. She blended seamlessly into the MC, knew her role.

So, why the fuck was Tig so horrible to Matt? He didn't hurt her physically, but somehow that seemed much merciful than what he'd done to her over and over again.

Jax had thrown Tig against the pool table, demanding answers. It'd even attracted Clay's attention, coming out of church to observe the carnage. Tigger still had bruises from his last little showdown with the Prince and wasn't eager for more, but he might have thrown a couple punches for appearance's sake. Chibs stepped in though, playing peacekeeper. He'd always taken that role very seriously. Tigger didn't have any words though, not for Jax. Not for Chibs either. Really, what did they need to know? Tig fucked up. That was all the information they needed. Tig ran like a coward and left Mattie.

But it wasn't just that. _I saw the bruise. I swear to God, you ever put hands on her again, I will kill you myself. She is not one of your whores. You don't get to hurt her just because you're afraid of what she knows. _Jax didn't say anything more than that, just let go of the front of Tig's cut and stalked towards his dorm. But Chibs was still there, something close to rage crossing his normally good-natured face. Wordlessly asking what the fuck Tig did. If he hit Mattie. He didn't, but the other explanation wasn't any better. A shitload worse, actually. So Tig just kept his mouth shut, grabbed his whiskey, and went home for a change. The apartment wasn't his favorite place, but it didn't have any prying eyes.

A few days later, Chibs was the one to tell Tig that Mattie had gone down to San Diego to help her brother get married. George Cardinal wasn't what Tigger had expected; he looked like a giant version of Book, muscles on top of muscles with a crop of bright red hair. Yeah, definitely Book's kid. But San Diego was what, eight or nine fucking hours away? And she'd be gone for almost a whole month? Shit. Something about the situation felt eerily similar to New York. Mattie was just supposed to be spending time in the city for the summer, but that turned into just supposed to stay for law school, which morphed into a six-year absence. Tig didn't know if he could deal with that again. Fuck, he might just go after her and haul her ass back to Charming. Take a club van, tie her up if need be. Tig didn't care. All he knew was that he couldn't take much more of whatever he was doing to himself. Mattie had always been a sort of salve, a cure for whatever emotional turmoil lay inside him, and when she was gone… It was getting out of control.

Tig didn't say it nearly enough, but he needed Mattie. In so many fucking ways that he couldn't even begin to count them all.

He'd tried to call her few times, but she never picked up her phone. Tig couldn't blame her. Things were getting so bad that he thought about leaving a long, rambling message, but his pride wouldn't let him. Missing Mattie, and telling her were two different problems entirely. Fucking hell. Sometimes, he wondered if it would've been better if she'd stayed in New York. At least then he'd be used to her absence. Already past that first hump of loneliness.

But instead, he was sitting at the bar in the clubhouse, Half-Sack pretending to wipe down the counter in order to stay out of Tig's direct line of sight. Kid had been on the receiving end of most of the Sergeant-at-Arm's outbursts, a few them involving fists. It was unfair, because it wasn't like the Prospect could even attempt to hit him back, but Tig just needed to unwind a little. Clenching his hands into fists and swinging them as hard as he could always seemed to do that. Not as well as it used to, but the violent outbursts were good for something. Chibs would always step in before the scuffles got too out of hand, which would make Tig even more angry- because that asshole Scot's phone calls probably got answered- until Clay would ultimately solve things. The President had been nothing but supportive of Tig since Donna's death, but even Clay was exhausted by Tigger's recent actions. Which, of course, made Tig feel even shittier than he did already.

Filling his own glass, Tig thought about occupying himself for the rest of the afternoon. Soon, Friday night festivities would start, and then he'd find some pussy and get to work. Maybe even find two girls. That would certainly hold his attention. No more of the listless shifting through the party, forgetting and then remembering that Mattie wouldn't be joining. The last couple times- before Tig killed Donna- Mattie had actually been enjoying herself. No more transitioning back into the life, getting used to how SAMCRO worked, just having fun and getting drunk. Leading Tigger back into his dorm and getting undressed very, very slowly. Mattie liked her little games, but Tig could play them too. All the brothers had heard her unabashedly screaming for more enough times to prove that point. Great. Now Tigger was not just miserably lonely, he was also horny. That combination had never been particularly kind to him.

But then Juice had to open up his mouth and ruin Tig's Friday night.

"Hey, Tig?" The Information Officer sounded unsure. Probably because if Half-Sack wasn't around, Tigger had no problem ragging on the Puerto Rican instead.

"What's up, shithead?" He shouted across the room, swinging off his stool. "Wanna go a round in the ring? It is Friday, which means there's gonna be a couple fights. I could make room in my dance card for you."

"Shut up, man. I don't wanna dance with you." Juice replied, an irritated look crossing his face, completely missing Tig's joke. Of course.

"What do you want then?" Tig asked, flopping onto the couch next to him. He'd known the kid far too long to explain what he'd meant. It would just go over his head.

"Gotta show you something. Somebody emailed it to me, but… Just promise you won't freak out, okay?"

"If it's a naked chick, I'll probably be okay with it. If she's hot, at least. If it's one of those pictures of that fat dude in front of his computer, we're gonna settle shit in the ring. Don't need that disturbing image my brain."

"I feel like you've seen worse." Juice commented, before sighing through his teeth.

He turned the screen towards Tig, showing him a picture of two girls in bikinis standing by ocean. They were facing each other, heads turned to the water, their sides facing the photographer. He couldn't see their faces, just their bodies. One was stick-skinny, wearing a yellow suit that showed off her toned stomach but covered her little mosquito bites. Not even an ass. Some guys liked that athletic look, but not Tig. The other girl, in the red and white bikini, now that was a shape that he appreciated. Curvy, nice tits, tattoos. Just like Mattie. Even had curly hair too. Weird coincidence.

"Two bitches at the beach. Fascinating, Juice. I'm enthralled. Please show me more." Tig deadpanned. Juice caught his sarcasm and frowned.

"Good, dude, because there is more."

Juice scrolled down, the next photo of the girls swimming, the resolution a little grainy. Probably too much zoom or some shit. Once satisfied that Tig had absorbed the image, Juice flicked down to the next. It was much clearer, of them walking towards the picture taker, wet from their swim. Must've been cold, Tig thought with a grin, because red-bathing suit had gotten all nipple-y. Tearing himself away from her tits, he glanced briefly at her face. Wait. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. The girl looked like Mattie because she _was_ Mattie. That's why Juice was so fucking concerned. Worry sobered Tig as Juice scrolled to the last picture. Mattie and other girl- younger than her, just a kid- packing their things.

And the careful typed message underneath?

_Thought we'd entertain you boys with the most scandalous pictures. These should keep Mr. Trager entertained. His girl is very, very pretty. Wouldn't want anything to happen to her while she's so far away, yes? Because innocents involved with SAMCRO seem to live very fragile lives. So, in short: boys, we know you are. We know who to hurt in order to hurt your organization. We might start with Miss Cardinal. Who knows? There are many other women and children you will probably fail to protect, as you've failed Mr. Winston's wife. In case we have not made ourselves clear, Sons of Anarchy, clean up your illegal activities, and we'll leave your loved ones alone. This is an issue of black and white. Solve it. _

"What the fuck?" Tig breathed, reading the note once more.

Almost eleven years ago, somebody sent a similar picture to the club. The delivery was different- this time digital as opposed to hard copy- but the threat was the same. Mattie's life or compliance. But for what? What did they mean by 'an issue of black and white'? Shit, they needed to tell Clay, Tig had to get ready for a long ride because he sure as shit wasn't going to leave Mattie unprotected. No matter how much she hated him at the moment. It was Tigger's responsibility to keep her safe. From what, he had no idea, but that didn't matter. Mattie managed to save herself once, at home, not eight hours away. Fuck. Why did George choose to get married now? Idiot could've waited until Tig and Mattie made nice, when she would answer his phone calls. Tig didn't even know where she was staying! Damn it, why did she have to make things so difficult? Why was somebody always threatening his girl?

"You have any way to figure out who sent this?" Tig demanded, watching Juice blanch.

"No, man. I already tried. It's just a dummy account. And they used a public network. Untraceable." He bit his cheek. "They sent it to the garage account that we use to send out coupons and remind people to pay their bills. It's not exactly a secret email, but we normally don't get anything besides spam. That's why I noticed it. Figured it was a customer bitching about something by the subject line."

Juice pointed at the screen. _Important SoA Issue to Discuss_. "We have to tell the rest of the guys." Tig sighed, putting his face into his hands. Clay was one thing, but how was he supposed to explain this to Mattie? Or even find her?

"Okay. I'll find them; you get in touch with Matt. Warn her to be on her guard." Juice dug his phone out of his pocket, but before he flipped it open, Tig cut in.

"Can't. She won't pick up my calls. Woman scorned, you know how it is." He admitted, feeling like an asshole. "And I don't want to get her on the line and freak her out while she's all alone down there. Her brother might be Book's kid, but he's not gonna know what to do if bullets start to fly."

"She's really that pissed off? What did you do, man?" When Tig didn't respond right away, Juice took a stupid chance and kept running his mouth. "Dude, Mattie loves you. Gotta work things out with her. You don't know how lucky you are to get a girl that's cool with the club and that doesn't need to be on you twenty-four-seven about it."

"Shut up, motherfucker. I don't need you to play shrink for me."

Juice just shook his head. He was used to the abuse. "Hey, she has an iPhone, right?"

"Yeah. Frivolous fancy shit, that's what I call it. Why?"

He grinned. "You know all those nude celebrity pictures that are on the internet?"

"Come on, Juice, I don't really care about what you need to jack off to." Tig groaned, thinking that Juice might've been useful for a change.

"Tig, most of them are hacked from their phones. Their frivolous, fancy phones. Same that Mattie has."

Realization hit him. Mattie kept her schedule on that stupid thing. He'd clicked on her calendar by accident once, when trying to get to that poker game he liked, and all her appointments had flashed up instead. "Please tell me, you beautiful idiot, that you can hack her phone."

"Oh, I can. Just hope I don't find any naked pictures." That comment earned Juice a smack across the head that'd been waiting for him since the conversation began.

Tig left to prepare himself, to gather a few things so that he could start heading down to San Diego as soon as possible. Even if he didn't know who the threat was from. Last time somebody sent him a picture of Mattie, the club's first suspicion had been the Nords, and they'd been pretty close with that guess. Now, shit. Tig didn't know where to start. He didn't think it was them again, none of them were smart enough- or ambitious enough to send somebody to San Diego to take candid pictures- to come up with a plan like that. There were the Mayans, but… Would they really get involved enough to figure out all the Old Ladies in SAMCRO? Did they really care that much? Even in '93, during an all-out war, they hadn't stooped so low. The Sons and the wetbacks weren't best friends, but fuck, Tig didn't think there was enough animosity to cause that sort of attack. There was a very careful understanding between the two MCs that innocents were off the table.

Who else, though? Maybe it was from the Feds, a warning to fly straight or they'd go after Mattie again. Stahl trying a new tactic to get to the Sons. But why would she threaten Mattie's life? Surely the bitch wasn't so hard-pressed that she'd try to intimidate the club that way. What about Hale? He thought he knew that happened to Donna- Jax had told Tig that was how Mattie found out when he'd stalked into the clubhouse that one day, defending his princely honor when Tigger accused him of leaking information. Hale could want to scare Mattie away. Into his arms, rekindling whatever relationship they had in high school. That wasn't right though. The Deputy Chief was a boy scout, with little to no interest in trying to harass SAMCRO in such a borderline illegal way.

Clay might have a better idea, but Tig didn't know if he could wait that long. Because he might want to send Jax, wait for Bobby to get out and have him go instead, leaving Tig out of it. No. Mattie was his, and he needed to take care of it. No matter how much the Prince bitched. Bobby only had a week or so left inside- two Saturdays from then would mark his return- but Tig couldn't wait to make sure that she was safe. Everything was so fucked up, worse than it'd been when Tigger was just interested in drinking his problems away. So much for forgetting about Mattie now. She'd take up residence in his brain until he was sure that nothing would hurt her.

Juice appeared in Tig's doorway, still wearing that goofy smile. If Tig wasn't so worried, he'd say something about how amazing it was that somebody so socially retarded could be so smart, but his thoughts were too jumbled to attempt the backhanded insult.

"Got it figured out. Guys are all here for Friday night, so they're in the chapel already, waiting for you." His smile broke for a second. "Y'know, Hap's already volunteered to head down. I don't think she'd be much safer with anybody else. Plus, he's nomad, knows how to make sure they're not followed and shit. And he's much more fucking sober than you are."

Tig couldn't hide his glare. "I'm fine. She's my responsibility, not the club's. Not Happy's."

He didn't have anything against the Tacoma Killer, hell, he and Hap were pretty close, but when it came to Mattie, things got personal. Whoever was threatening her was threatening Tig. Not Happy, not Clay, not Jax, but Tigger. That's just how things were.

"Sure, man. Just… come on. We're just looking out for her, that's all."

Juice walked away, and Tig knew the kid was speaking the truth. It's what he'd do if somebody else's Old Lady was in danger.

For once, Tigger didn't care that he'd thought of Mattie that way. Normally, he'd wish that stupid notion away, curse himself for letting her even wander in that direction, but today… Mattie was more than just a relationship with a seventeen-year-old girl that'd gotten out of hand almost eleven years ago. She was his.

And he'd do just about anything to make sure things stayed that way.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, I know this took forever to post. I'd list some excuses about life being busy, and it was, but I also needed to take a little hiatus from writing this for a bit. I think I finally got my mojo flowing again, so hopefully I can update more frequently than I have been recently. Not sure whether the next chapter will be present day or another flashback. Anyway, thanks so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you thought!<strong>


	30. Chapter 30

_All your enemies_

_Smile when you fall_

_You take it 'cause you_

_Don't know what you want_

_You don't know what you want_

_All this love of mine_

_All my precious time_

_You waste it 'cause you_

_Don't know what you want_

_You don't know what you want_

_Nova Baby – The Black Keys_

* * *

><p>Mattie had gotten through the whole rehearsal dinner without hanging herself. It'd been quite a feat, and involved what was probably too much champagne, but she managed to ignore her mother for a whole three hours and not look like an utter bitch doing it. Instead of looking straight ahead at Reese, Mattie turned her attention to Jessie and George at the end of the table. Jessie's parents were seated on either side of them and were far more tolerable than Reese Cardinal- if that was even still her last name, it could be Darby, Hirsch, fuck, maybe even changed back to Munson- and provided the bulk of Mattie's conversation. Reese, the stupid bitch, didn't even seem to notice. That was fine with Mattie. Her mother had never been particularly observant when it came to her children, so Mattie wasn't sure why she expected any of that to change.<p>

Aside from the gigantic crucifix hanging around her neck, Reese looked relatively the same since the last time that Mattie had seen her. Same dark brown hair, stick straight- the Munson curls were normally passed on through the boys, but Mattie was the rare exception- skin tanned a deep gold. The button nose and full lips that Mattie had inherited. She was forty-seven, but did not show her age much. The few lines gracing her face proclaimed that she was not old enough to have a daughter two years away from turning thirty, however, that's how things were. Reese was only nineteen when Mattie was born, not that she admitted it very often. Usually it was Mattie's age that was changed, instead of her own.

And she was as self-absorbed as usual. Reese talked to whoever would listen- everyone except for Matt- about her religion, about her friends, about her cats. Mattie wasn't sure what she expected, certainly not concern for her well-being, but something other than what Reese was. Like she had for her entire life. It always seemed utterly unfair that Mattie had gotten stuck with a mother like Reese when other people had perfectly normal moms. Jessie, for example. Her mother, Vicky, was a dentist who was thrilled that her daughter was getting married. Mattie had spent a lot of time with Vicky over the past few weeks, and was jealous that Jessie got to keep her when the wedding was over. Reese, on the other hand, was warped enough to think that the whole wedding business was an excuse to be the center of attention.

Didn't her mother wonder where she'd been for the past six years? Didn't Reese wonder how Mattie took Book's death? Didn't she care about Mattie losing the baby? Fuck, did she think about anybody besides herself? Yeah, she and Reese weren't close, but the woman was still her mother. That had to mean something. Six years was a long time not to see somebody, familial tensions or not. It was like the moment that Mattie was out of Reese's life; the mother/daughter bond was so broken that Reese refused to ever acknowledge it. George had been her only child for the past twenty years. Why did Mattie think that would ever change?

By the time Mattie had sobered enough to drive back to the Sheraton, she ached for a little bit of home. She wished that it was her own driveway she was turning into, not the hotel everyone from out of town was staying in. George had offered to let her crash at his apartment, but she'd turned him down. She'd spent enough nights in Tigger's tiny dorm to know that living in a bachelor pad wasn't really her thing. The hotel, with its late night room service and Jacuzzi on the balcony, that was what she needed after the long night with Reese. Did anybody else notice the tension between them? Probably, but they were all too polite to say anything. Mattie wasn't used to that, back in Charming, if shit got weird, it got sorted out. Problems were dealt with quickly and efficiently. Not her own- Christ, not her own- but in the club, that's how things worked.

But with Donna's death, maybe that had changed. Jax was at Clay's throat, begging for blood. SAMCRO was on rocky ground. Mattie didn't like that. Her whole fucking life, the Sons had been the one stable element. If she ever needed anything, they were there for her. Charming might not be a utopia, nobody in their right mind would ever declare that, but it was home. Only twenty-four hours left in San Diego, and Mattie couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to talk to somebody who would knew her, better than George and Jessie. Somebody that had her whole heart for as long as she could remember.

Nervously, Mattie flicked through the contacts on her phone, searching for the right name. It was a number that she had not used for a very long time, but she couldn't wait anymore. Not after seeing Reese.

"Hey, baby." There was the voice that Mattie needed.

"Gemma?"

"Honey, who else would pick up the house phone? Clay?" She snorted. "You okay?"

Gemma's question sounded far more serious than the simple way she phrased it, so Mattie answered as honestly as she could. "No. Not really."

"What's wrong?"

Again, too grave, but Mattie decided to ignore that. "I saw my mom tonight."

"Shit, baby. I coulda told you that might happen, being your baby brother's wedding and all. What'd the bitch do? I can send one of the boys to take care of her." Her humor finally came through the phone line, and Mattie felt herself relax.

"Nothing, really. Typical Reese." She sighed. "Why is she so fucking crazy? Why can't she just be a normal adult?"

"Matt, your mother has been nineteen for the last twenty-eight years, and I don't think that's ever going to change. She's never gotten in into her head that she has to act responsibly. It's a foreign concept, sweetheart."

"I know. It's just that… I guess, after six years, I thought she might be concerned about me. Have questions, at least. She doesn't even try at all." Mattie hated being upset about Reese. It was such an old, familiar pain that was easy to ignore. But it always managed to sneak up and bite her in the ass when she least expected it.

"Just say fuck you to her, Matt. She's not worth getting pissed over. Forget Reese for good, and move on with your life."

"I did. _I_ didn't invite her to the wedding."

"Well, when you get married, don't send her an invitation. Easy fix." Gemma teased. "Not that marriage is really Tigger's thing."

"What evidence shows that Tig will be my husband?" Mattie asked. If wasn't Reese frustrating her, it was Tig.

"Everything, baby, everything. You love him, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Yes is all I need to hear. Things are bad right now, but they always get better. Especially between the two of you. You know that Tig would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe. He's not particularly easy man to love, but you do. For eleven fucking years, Mattie, you've loved him. Don't quit now."

"I'm not. I wasn't. I just need some time." Mattie whispered. Gemma was always first to leap to Tig's defense, unlike her son. "And things are worse than bad. Far worse. Forever broken, can't be put back together kind of bad."

"It's not. You think it is, but it isn't." There was a commotion on the other end, the sound of Gemma greeting Clay as he walked in the door. "I gotta go, baby."

"Okay. Thanks for listening."

"No problem. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Gem."

"I love you, kiddo. Remember that."

"Love you, too." Mattie replied, pulling the phone from her ear just as Clay asked who Gemma was talking to. Her response was 'none of your goddamn business,' and immediately made Mattie smile. That was what she needed. The mother figure in her life. And Gemma was right, Mattie would be home soon. That was enough to lull her into a light sleep, even if she was far away from her own bed.

Until the knocking on her door jarred her from slumber. The banging was hard, relentless, and for a second, Mattie was afraid to climb out of the covers. Visitors in the middle of the night were something that she was hardwired to be wary of, and so, she scooped her gun out of her suitcase on the way to the door. The pistol in her hand was part of the reason she didn't fly down to San Diego- kind of hard to get it through airport security.

Slowly, carefully, Mattie raised herself up to the peephole in the door, confident that the room was dark enough that her shadow couldn't be seen underneath the door. Another trick that Book had taught her. He probably wouldn't have wanted her to disengage the locks for the person standing on the other side, but Mattie was so bewildered that she did just that.

"Tigger? What the fuck are you doing here?" Mattie demanded, lowering her gun just a little as he stepped inside her room. He glanced around suspiciously, as though she were hiding something from him.

"Saving your ass." He retorted, stalking towards the windows. The blinds were drawn shut, as were the drapes across the sliding glass doorway that led to the balcony. Mattie flicked on the lamp on the nightstand to cast a bit of light in the room, even if it made her feel a little too exposed.

That wasn't the answer that she wanted. How did he even know where she was? What hotel? Room? Mattie hadn't told anybody back in Charming any of that information. Especially not Tig. Or when she'd be back. All her conversations with Jax and Chibs were about things at home, not about what she was doing in San Diego. Both of them knew to give her enough space until she returned. And then Gemma's farewell on the phone- saying that she'd see Mattie tomorrow- which compounded Mattie's confusion. How'd the Queen know a thing like that? Yes, Mattie was leaving after the wedding, but she wouldn't be home until the early morning the next day. Because she was planning to stock up on red bull and drive through the night, that was how bad her homesickness was. There was something about the scenario that Mattie was missing, and that scared the shit out of her. Tig was not the sort of man to swoop in and demand that she come back to him. Something dangerous was going on, something that warranted a nine-hour ride in the dark.

"Tig, what are you doing here?" Mattie asked, much more calmly than before. Her heart rate, however, was skyrocketing with every passing second.

Instead of speaking, he handed her a set of folded papers from inside his cut. Mattie raised an eyebrow, but accepted. She didn't think they were love letters or shit like that, she was not quite that delusional, but had no idea what she'd see when she opened them.

Images of her and Jessie at the beach, swimming, walking, talking, all taken earlier in the day. Somebody had been industrious to get them to Tig so quickly, and he must've acted just as swiftly to get to San Diego so soon. That's not what she was really thinking though. Because there were no thoughts, no words, just fear. Confusion. Why her?

"What the fuck?" The few syllables she managed to stutter were beyond slow, clotted with the irrational tears stinging the backs of her eyes. "How'd you get these?"

Again, Tig didn't answer directly. "Do you remember when I showed you the photo that Hirsch sent all those years ago?"

"Y-yeah."

"And I told you that something like that would never happen again?"

"Of course."

"This is me making sure that it never happens again." Tig finished finally. "I don't know what these assholes want, but they're not getting you. Pack your shit, I'll get a little sleep, and then we'll go home."

Mattie sank into the mattress, reassured by his words, but still freaked out. The man with the camera, the one she'd ran into in the parking lot, surely, he couldn't be responsible. That's wasn't possible. Dozens of people had their cameras on the beach; it could've been anybody. Mattie was so damn uncomfortable she wouldn't have ever noticed. That man though, thinking about him still made her bristle.

"We can't. George's wedding is tomorrow. I can't miss that."

"Who gives a fuck, Matt? Somebody wants to hurt you, and you're worried about some kid saying his vows?"

"Yeah, I am! How do you even know that these people want me? Maybe it's Jessie they're threatening. She's in all the pictures." Mattie argued, some of her fright replaced by irritation. If Tig thought that she was just going to up and leave without a word, just like Reese had done to her, he was a complete idiot. George deserved to have his sister at his wedding.

"Did you read the message on the last sheet? Because, despite the fact that I didn't go to fucking law school, it seems pretty clear to me that you're the target. Since, you know, they pretty much mention you by name."

"And they say I'm not the only one on their list. Maybe they're trying to unsettle the club, Tig." Mattie fought the urge to shake him. "I'm not going to leave until the wedding is over. I don't care what you say, what you do, it's not going to happen. You're not going to bully me into doing what you want."

The sharp line of his mouth tightened. "I'm not bullying you, I came here to make sure that you were safe, baby. They could've been following you for days. And you're here, all alone, nobody to protect you."

"I'm not alone."

"Oh, and your brother is going to know what to do when assholes with guns come after you? When you're kidnapped or worse? Yeah, because he's just so fucking capable." Tig shook his head. "Why're you being so difficult?"

"Because," Mattie drew a deep breath, not sure what would happen when she finished her sentence, "in case you've forgotten, the last asshole with a gun that came after me was you. You keep sending mixed messages; first you want me dead, and now you want to make sure I stay alive. What? So you can make sure to take care of it yourself?"

Tig curled his hands into fists, and Mattie instinctively shrunk back into the bed. He'd never hit her before, but usually when they hated one another they were never in the same tiny room. Mattie put space between them for a reason. But he softened, letting his shoulders slump just the smallest bit.

"Mattie, just let me do what I know how to do. I don't get to save a life very often, but Christ, let me try." Tig closed his eyes, as though he were too frustrated to continue, but he did. "We'll stay for the wedding. Just because I'm fucking wiped out from the ride down. Can't really save your ass when mine's all over the pavement."

Mattie relaxed for a second, knowing that she wouldn't be letting her brother down. She and Tig both know that if he really wanted, he could drag her back to Charming. He did look exhausted, so Mattie patted the mattress beside her. Not that he'd ever agree to sleep on the couch. Tension between them or not, Tig didn't care about sharing a bed.

"When you say we'll stay for the wedding, does that mean that you're going to go, too? Or that you'll be in the hotel room while I'm there? Because that would be much easier to explain."

"Baby," Tig groaned as he pulled off his boots, "Don't press your luck."

"Tigger, it's a wedding. I don't think that they're going to be too used to men in cuts."

He heaved a loud sigh. "Mattie."

"You're not exactly George's favorite person. Oh, hey, little brother, remember that guy you hate? Not only is he attending your wedding last minute, but he's also wearing a pair of jeans and shit-kicking boots. That should go over well." She turned over to face him. "And you're not exactly my favorite person either."

"I don't give a fuck." Tig put a hand against her cheek to couch the blow of his declaration. Mattie fought the urge to lean into his calloused touch. "I came here to keep you safe. It's all I want to do. You can love me or hate me while I do it, doesn't make a difference."

"I didn't think it did." Mattie thought of something that made her a little bit light headed. "My mom's going to be there, you know. Oh shit, that's going to be so awkward."

"Why?"

"Because she'll want to _talk_ to you." She locked eyes with him. "If she wants to sleep with you, please tell me that you'll turn her down. Because she will offer. Although I know that you'll probably be powerless to deny her."

"Naw, baby. You're the only Cardinal I need. Plus, your ma is crazy. Even if you hate me, you're at least normal."

"I don't hate you." Mattie protested, even if it felt a little weak.

"Coulda fooled me."

"Tig… What happened with Donna, it's not going to go away overnight. Things aren't ever going to be the same between us, you know that. It's all fucked up." Mattie rolled over to flick off the lamp.

"I didn't mean to. If it matters all, I didn't mean to." Tig would never completely admit that he was wrong about anything. He never took responsibility like that, was always too prideful.

"You don't _mean_ to do a lot of things."

"I… Know. Come on, I didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep."

"Yeah, like I'm going to be able to get some shut eye while I figure out how to explain to George that you're suddenly coming to his wedding."

"I'm an excellent guest." He retorted, yanking off his boots and throwing himself underneath the covers.

That didn't stop him from reaching out and wrapping his arms around her torso. Boundaries, what were those? Tig apparently had no idea, and once he felt asleep, Mattie had no choice but to accept his touch. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a long fucking day, no matter how she looked at things. George's wedding was already overwhelming without throwing Tig into the mix. Shit, how was she supposed to explain that to her brother? Normal people did not barge into hotel rooms in the middle of the night and demand to take you home. Although, Mattie always knew that choosing to be with Tig would never be normal. That's the thought that enveloped her as she succumbed to sleep.

Even after getting ready for the day, after picking up a decent button down, pair of khakis, blazer and loafers for Tig to wear, Mattie was still beyond nervous. Everyone in San Diego thought she was normal, that she wasn't raised with a bunch of outlaw bikers- much less fucking one- so she was ready for the questions. The one Mattie most dreaded was _how did you two meet_, because there wasn't really a polite way to answer that one. _Oh, I was seventeen, and he was… not. _Her safe answer was _it's complicated_, and didn't intend to elaborate much more than that.

Walking into Jessie's bridal suite nearly a half hour late did not earn Mattie many favors, and so she couldn't immediately figure out a way to explain that she needed to add an extra person to the guest list. Tig had almost insisted on accompanying Mattie up one floor to the suite, but somehow, she managed to persuade him that the trip was safe. Her gun was in her purse- as a concession. He wanted it tucked into the waistband on her jeans, for easy access. Mattie just said something somewhat dirty in reply, which satisfied Tigger as the elevator doors snapped shut.

While her hair was being done- pure torture as the poor hairdresser figured out a way to wrangle her tight curls- her phone chirped with an unread text.

**Thought about what you said. Owe you a solid. I'll wait outside the hall, keep an eye on things. Don't argue.**

She didn't.

* * *

><p>The wedding had gone more smoothly than Mattie would've thought. No major snags, no drunken outbursts, just a sweet declaration of love before the start of training camp. One had just the slightest feeling of being rushed- the newlyweds' plane left exactly two hours after the reception ended- but other than that, everything was pretty easy-going. Well, if Mattie decided to ignore the way Reese cornered her, the night had gone splendidly. George had accepted Tig's looming presence with nothing more than a sigh and a shrug, Jessie didn't ask any uncomfortable questions about him, and none of the other guests seemed to notice the biker outside the banquet hall.<p>

"I see you brought a body guard with you this time." Reese had said, both women in the bathroom. It was quiet, everyone else on the dance floor.

"Excuse me?"

"Tall, curly hair, very blue eyes. What's that one? Tig, right? Who sent him down? Gemma? Clay? My brother?" Reese asked, raising an eyebrow. Mattie's purse- she'd purposely bought a clutch for the wedding, but her gun wouldn't fit inside without catching a lot of attention- was sitting on her seat, waiting for her return. Although, she didn't think that waving a gun in her mother's face would really deter her.

"Yes. And he's not my bodyguard. Nobody sent him to San Diego to save me from you."

"So, what is he doing here?" Her expression faltered for a second. "Oh, don't tell me. Don't tell me that you're his Old Lady. Really, sweetheart, you couldn't have gone for Jax or Opie? You had to choose a man that older than I am? That's desperate, kiddo. Desperate."

Rage, sweet, irrational rage, enveloped Mattie. Who was her mother to condemn her choice of man? She'd been married to one hit man, one king of white hate, dated a psychopath that went after her own kid, and that was before Mattie stopped paying attention. "Don't you dare tell me who I am supposed to love, you stupid, hateful cunt. Don't you date talk down to me from that false high horse of yours, Reese. I have tried to play nice, for George's sake, but fuck you."

"That's how you speak to your own mother?"

Seriously? Seriously! "You are _not_ my mother. You have never been my mother, so do not waste your breath pretending that you have ever made an honest attempt in the past twenty-eight years."

"Oh, and who is granted that high honor?" Reese just smiled, infuriating Mattie even further.

"We both know." Mattie retorted, although she had Gemma's name on her tongue if Reese decided to continue playing dumb.

"I guess we do." She placed her hands on her hips. "It must've been you telling George about the utopic childhood you spent in Charming. Seems to me that you've left out a few details, such as your father being a murderous scumbag. If you're going to delude you're brother, at least provide a few truthful details."

Mattie closed the space between them, stalking across the tiled floor. Her hand wrapped around the front of Reese's modest dress- it seemed like Jesus had convinced her that tube tops and short-shorts were no longer appropriate at her age- and pulled her forward, menacingly. It was a lesson straight out of Tigger's book, even if Mattie lacked the gun or the cut that gave the action an extra bit of threat.

"Do not," Mattie sucked in a breath, "Do not talk about my father like that. Say one more blasphemous words about him, and I will _hurt_ you. I promise you, Reese. I am my father's daughter, through and through. "

"You're not. You are not swallowed by the same darkness as him. Matilda, you can still do good in this world. There is more than the Sons of Anarchy."

Reese knew nothing of darkness. For the past eleven years, she'd no idea the evil she unleashed upon Mattie. Now, she would.

"Reese, do you remember Hirsch?" Mattie asked, releasing her just the smallest bit.

"Darby's guy? The one that left the Nords to start his own… organization? Why?"

"The one that you left Darby for." Mattie clarified, watching her mother's brown eyes dart around in confusion.

"Yes, I do. Why? Why is he important? I haven't seen the man in years, Matilda. Years. He disappeared after he figured out the religion that your grandparents passed onto me."

Mattie hadn't been raised Jewish, much to her grandfather's chagrin, but she wasn't embarrassed of the religion as her mother was. Hell, Reese hadn't jumped onto the Christianity bandwagon until a couple years ago, though she'd always had a problem with her own Judaism. Maybe that was why she decided to be with Darby, he despised the religion as much as she. Mattie didn't understand her mother. Neither did Bobby, who'd had a rocky relationship with Reese far longer than she, since before Mattie was born. Perhaps that was why Mattie and Bobby were so close; he wanted to make sure that Mattie turned out nothing like her own mother. Thankfully.

"There's a very simple explanation for that." Mattie whispered, leaning in closer. "Can you figure that out on your own, or do I need to spell it out for you?"

Reese's face crumbled for a split second, just long enough to stiffen Mattie's spine, to reinforce her resolve. Her mother was the only person that she ever wanted to confront- Mattie generally shirked everyone else unless the situation was extreme- which was good, because she truly needed to have words with Reese. She needed to hear what she'd done to Mattie so long ago, how her own actions impacted her daughter's. Mattie would've never had to pick up Hirsch's gun and pulled the trigger if Reese decided to be honest with her little white hate clique to begin with.

"Your father… he killed Hirsch? Wyatt had a code. He only went after the club's targets, never his own. He didn't make death personal." Reese stuttered, raking a trembling hand through her hair. Mattie would let her fret for a little while longer. "Why would he care? Because Hirsch was moving in the Son's territory? No, that's not it. He wasn't established enough to be on their radar. Because of me? Because he was jealous that another man had fallen in love with me? What a selfish, selfish person."

Now, that was the pot calling the kettle black. Reese loved to be the center of attention, and would probably like a few more people to be privy to the argument she was having with her daughter. Somebody to be on her side. She always hid behind others, drifting just beyond retribution. Pulling strings, whispering secrets, telling lies, it was the Reese Cardinal way. Wielding her rag-tag band of gangsters and criminals to keep SAMCRO away, so that she could have custody of George. Though, as much as Reese craved it, she was no Gemma. She wasn't the matriarch. There was a difference between respect and appreciation. Although Darby was not as dimwitted as he portrayed himself, most of Reese's advice went in one ear and out the other. Her influence was nearly nonexistent.

Until she fucked Hirsch without first explaining that she was a non-practicing Jew. Whether he found out of his own accord or Reese mentioned it later, Mattie didn't know, and she didn't particularly care. One would think that when affiliating oneself with a man that is both a Neo-Nazi and a psychopath, that'd be something brought up rather early in a relationship. Apparently not.

"No. Daddy didn't kill Hirsch." Mattie's eyes burned with violent tears. "He would've if given the chance, but trust me bitch, it had _nothing_ to do with you."

She scoffed at that. "Yeah, I believe that one, Matilda. So, who then? Your guard dog? Did he claim you early? Because they do that. Find a little girl that they like and put stars in their eyes. What did he promise? Safety? Love? Family? What does your precious Tig give you that no other man does? What did he brainwash you into believing?"

Mattie ignored her. Tig never made any promises, not just because he wasn't that sort of man, but also because he simply didn't need to. She'd made it to her twenty-eighth birthday in one piece, and it wasn't just her own doing. Tigger had a silent, guiding hand in her existence since she was seventeen. Part caretaker, part lover- even if Mattie hated using that word to describe their relationship. Why else would he ride for eight hours in the dark just be sure of that Mattie was safe from some phantom menace? Tig didn't say it often, hell, ever really, but he loved her. For eleven years they'd been inexplicably intertwined, and Reese could question that all she liked, for it wouldn't make a difference to Mattie.

Seeing her mother forced Mattie into a decision. She'd seen so many women too weak to live alongside the Sons of Anarchy, and she was not going to be another one added to the list. Whatever fucked up things happened between her and Tig, she would fight her way past them. Lost babies, dead friends, broken hearts, she could do it. There was no life for Mattie outside the club, not anymore. Book had spent so much time ingraining the idea of the MC as family, as forever, that her brain would simply not accept any other ideas. Besides if six years of outside life- extravagant, comfortable outside life- could not satisfy Mattie like the few months back in Charming had, what else could she possibly look for? She could do it. She'd stand by Tig's side, a feat that had already been taken up and abandoned by many different women. Colleen had last the longest, fought the hardest, and came out on the other side with twins and a house. Then there were the girls at the club, hang-arounds that thought after one night they'd be somebody that the violent, semi-depraved man could not live without. Lastly, there was Mattie, standing all alone in a sea of despair and emotional torture. But Tig still swam his way through the icy waters, always back to her. In his own strange way, he depended on Mattie.

For him to do the things he needed to do and remain human, he needed to tether himself to Mattie. Pull her along for the ride and hope that she'd be whole when it was finished. Tig was a killer, but it wasn't his whole identity. He was a brother, a father, a… He was Mattie's man. That was the simplest way to identity what he meant to her. Tigger always said that Mattie was his, that she'd been his girl for such a long fucking time that he couldn't ever think of her as anything else. It worked both ways. Mattie might not be able to claim him as apparently, but she felt the same way.

So there was no more running. Mattie didn't have to put herself into the same position, wedge into that little corner of Tig's heart reserved solely for her, but she needed to stand with him. She was his girl. No more New York. No more San Diego. Charming was her home, and nothing was going to make her leave. Mattie was not Reese. She was intelligent, kind, and she loved her man, no matter what. She would not abandon her family. Not again. Not ever.

Mattie let go of her mother's dress, and took a dramatic step back. She was going to enjoy this. "When I was seventeen, there was a lockdown. Supposed war with the Nords. I didn't know it at the time, but somebody had sent photos to the club, candid ones, of a whole bunch of Old Ladies going about their business. But there was another, and it was me, getting into my car after school. The only one with a message scribbled on the backside. The guys, thinking that the only enemy that knew enough to threaten me in particular was Darby, went after him. But it wasn't. Hirsch, his number two that broke off to form his own gang, that was Darby's suspicion. The way he saw it, Hirsch could manipulate the Sons into taking out Darby, his biggest competition in the crank market, and distract them enough in order to do a hit of their own. Without SAMCRO, they'd be able to sell in Charming.

"And Darby's biggest selling point was that Hirsch had taken up with his ex-wife. Which would've been you, Reese. That's how he knew me, through association. So, the Sons went to check on the lead. Meanwhile, I'd taken a trip home from the club to get some privacy. Not the smartest move, I'll admit it, but I had no idea that anybody had threatened me directly. So, you can imagine that I was pretty fucking surprised when some Nazi asshole breaks into my house, says that he wants to kill me. Not because he wants to attack the club, but because he wants revenge. On you. Because you fucked him without telling him about your Jewish past.

"To make a long story just a little bit shorter, we fought. Hirsch didn't think that a teenage girl would be able to get a few decent hits in, because eventually he gave up on playing the game and pulled a gun. A quick kill, but enough blood to satisfy whatever sick need he had. But I was faster. Took it right out of his grasp." Mattie held up her hand, forming a pistol with her thumb and forefinger. She cocked it at her mother and continued. "I wasn't going to die because my mother couldn't close her goddamn legs. Because she was brainless and selfish. So I fired three times. Got him square in the chest. Hirsch bled out on our carpet. And I was happy. No guilt, no fear, just warmth. I protected myself from the murderer that you led straight to my front door, Reese. So I guess you could say like father, like daughter."

Mattie might've been the first Cardinal in three generations not to kill on command, but she certainly continued the family trait in her own little way.

The color had gone out of Reese's cheeks. She suddenly looked well past her forty-seven years. "I was right to keep George out of that life."

"Maybe, maybe not. But the moral of the story is don't piss me off. Don't threaten me or the people that I love. And just a small reminder, mother dearest, you aren't one of them. Just remember that the next time that you decide to speak badly of my father or my man." Mattie tutted sarcastically. "Doesn't the bible says something about judging others lest ye be judged? Or are you of the opinion that the good book is more of a choose-your-own-adventure type of story?"

"I know that I made the right decision to leave you behind. And I take it back; you're just like him. Your father." Reese shook her head. "And I suppose Gemma had a hand in this disgrace that you've become."

"_I'm_ a disgrace? Let's tally this up, shall we? You are forty-seven years old. You had a child at nineteen. You had another at twenty-five. And then you cheated on my father, one of the most honorable, caring, kind men on this earth. Then you went from meth dealer to psychopath back to meth dealer, without knowing that one of them tried to kill only daughter. What next, Reese? You drifted from man to man while George raised himself? Found Jesus? Now you live in an apartment with two cats while a whole host of ex-husbands still pay you alimony. Since you were nineteen, that's all you were able to accomplish.

"On the other hand, I'm twenty eight. I have a college degree. I went to law school. I own my own house. My own car. I live comfortably amongst my family. Gemma, Jax, Opie, Bobby, and all the others. My mother, my brothers, my uncle. Plus George, my biological brother. A new sister-in-law. And then there's Tigger. My guy. Who I have been with for a long time. So please, explain your math to me, because, honestly, I do not understand how this arithmetic does not come out in my favor."

Mattie left out details, like New York and Patrick, but the framework was the same. She wasn't married- and with Tigger, that wasn't likely to ever happen- and didn't have any kids, however, she'd done okay. Things weren't perfect. Were they ever? No. Better than Reese's life, certainly, but not perfect. And that was fine with Mattie.

"You are a hateful thing. I gave you life, Matilda, and I can take it aw-"

"Trust me, Reese, you even _attempt _such a feat, and you will be the lifeless one. By my own hand, or another's, it doesn't matter. You are not protected anymore."

"I don't even know who you are." Reese lamented, shaking her head. "But I will keep you in my prayers, to ward you towards a righteous path."

"You can do whatever the fuck you'd like. History, though, tells me that it'll fall far, far, short of my expectations."

Mattie strode out of the room, feeling more like herself than she'd had since Donna died. Tension between her shoulders was missing; her heart was beating with happiness instead of misery. She could think without remembering all the heartbreak of the past few weeks. Talking to Reese had been liberating, therapeutic. Who would've thought?

Once the wedding was over, Mattie took Tigger by the elbow. "Take me home, handsome."

He cocked an eyebrow but nodded. "Sure thing, beautiful."

Mattie didn't know how things were going to turn out, but shit, this certainly felt like an upswing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I vaguely remember saying something about this being a flashback… and I lied, apparently. But I think the next chapter will be in the past in order to break up the story before Mattie heads back to Charming. Anyway, as always, thanks for reading and leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	31. Chapter 31

_Sit tight with the lights off_

_Waiting for my brain to start_

_Trying to work things out_

_It's thunder and it's lighting_

_And it's all things too frightening_

_I could barely see outside_

_It's Thunder and It's Lightning – We Were Promised Jetpacks_

* * *

><p>Tig's head lolled back as the woman between his legs worked, her mouth and tongue and teeth almost eliciting a moan of uncontrolled pleasure. But he bit into the sound, closing his eyes and pretending that the hair his hand was tangled in wasn't wavy strawberry blonde but tight chestnut curls. The woman said something that Tig automatically translated into Mattie's light tone. Her burgundy fingernails along his thighs weren't there anymore, instead it was Matt's long, slender digits with their short, clean nails.<p>

Tig retreated farther and farther away, towards the visage of Mattie inside his mind. He dropped the fantasy for a single second, wondering what exactly the seventeen-year-old was doing on that particular Saturday night, before remembering that she was out with the Prince. Something Gemma had set up. Something that really pissed Tig off royally. Not that he could really be all the outraged when he was getting a blowjob from somebody that wasn't Mattie-

His hips bucked involuntarily and he knew he was close, the woman glancing up with eager brown eyes. He almost wanted to tell her to look someplace else but his brain already edited brown to hazel and there he was, back in his own imagination. Mattie's wet, hot tongue rolling up and down his length, the suction of her lips juxtaposed with the soft tissue in the back of her throat. Shit. Tig wanted to praise her, wanted to tell her how good she was with her mouth, how he'd return the favor soon enough.

Mattie wasn't really there though. She was still a month and a half too young to have his cock between her lips.

Couldn't stop him from pretending, though.

Tig was so into his little make-believe scenario that when he came, he growled Mattie's name, articulating the forbidden. And unfortunately, the strawberry blonde noticed. Really noticed.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Colleen demanded with narrowed eyes, her serious pose belied only by the fact that her tits were hanging out of the bra he'd half-unhooked.

When his ex-wife called asking if Tig wanted to have a little bit of fun, the rational part of his brain should've engaged and said no, but his dick decided to have the conversation instead. It wasn't the first time Colleen requested a booty call over the years and usually Tig enjoyed the half-passionate/half-hateful sex that resulted. Having his ex-wife beg for it was a strange kind of power, and everybody knew how Tig liked to have the upper hand.

What everybody didn't know, however, was the weird headspace he'd been in lately. It was hard to be faithful to a girl he couldn't fuck in the first place and besides, Tig was not exactly sure how fidelity was supposed to work. He'd always thought the warped idea that his conscience was located somewhere in his genitals. Explained why his cock got him into so much trouble.

"No, seriously, Alex, what the fuck did you just say?"

He hated that Colleen still insisted on using his real name, a moniker long since abandoned for the nickname given to him by the club. If he hadn't been fumbling for a reason- any reason- to have uttered _Mattie_ while Colleen gave him a blowjob, he might've sunk his fingers deep into his ex-wife's upper arms and told her to fuck off. Not that it would've intimidated her. Colleen had long since learned to dismiss his threats.

She'd won, after all. She got the car. She got the house. She got the kids and then got to decide how much time Tig spent with them. Colleen was fully aware of who had the reins in their fucked up little games.

And even worse than that, she was a cunt with a big mouth.

"It ain't what you think." Tig drawled, zipping his jeans. He was pretty sure his dick couldn't be softer.

"Oh? And what am I supposed to think when you say a child's name when I'm giving you head?" Colleen coolly refastened her bra, not breaking her stare.

"She's not a child." Really? _Really_? That was the best he could come up with?

His ex-wife's smirk matched her condescending words. "And what is she then, Alex? Worldly? Mature? What do you use to justify your disgusting little fetish?"

"Fuck you."

Colleen slipped her sweater back over her head before responding to his pathetic retort, easily setting the pace of the conversation. She was very well aware of the fact that their discussion was flowing in her favor. Memorizing the too-tender inflection of his voice as he said Mattie's name, keeping track of how many times Tig tried to deflect. So that she could use it later, to her own advantage.

"Or is Mattie just a whore like her mother?"

Tig didn't let Colleen's remark sit before he snatched her by the shoulders, pulling her viciously close. Fuck her. No matter how much sway the bitch thought she had over him, he wasn't going to let a dig like that go unpunished. Mattie's temperament was miles away from Reese's, as were her morals. She'd fallen for Tig not because she wanted to sleep with him, not because he was Sergeant-at-Arms, but for some unfathomable reason that he wasn't going to question. And neither was Colleen.

"Don't you fucking dare," He snarled, "Don't you fucking dare compare her to Reese."

Colleen grinned dangerously. "I touch a nerve? Though I guess you're not all that cuddly, considering you still came over to have sex with me. The Saint know about that?"

Tig was silent. No matter what he said, Colleen would knew the answer. Of course Mattie didn't know where he was or what he was doing. All the while he was completely aware that she and Jax were at her house, probably with Donna and Opie, sitting on the back porch and passing a bottle of liquor back and forth. Getting happily drunk with no idea that Tig and Colleen were meeting in secret.

Just because Mattie's armor was down didn't mean she couldn't throw it back on.

"So… Does Daddy Dearest have any idea that you're banging his daughter?" Her grin bloomed into a smile full of sharp teeth, "Another no? Christ, Alex, you're batting a fucking thousand tonight."

"Like I said, it ain't what you think-"

"Honey, I learned a long time ago that whatever you've done is always worse than I could've imagined. I'm sure this is not any different."

Tig let Colleen go to rake a hand through his hair, tired of being so close to the bitch. Tired of dealing with her sneaky, underhanded shit. It wasn't worth arguing or begging, because no matter what, the cunt was going to open her mouth and tell the whole world that her ex-husband was diddling a seventeen-year-old. Which he wasn't, not even close. He was lucky if he and Mattie got to speak even once a week without a shadow, either Jax or Kozik hovering so close that conversation was limited to generic pleasantries.

One mistake, one fucking mistake, and Tig's world was going to hell faster than he could comprehend.

And that wasn't his way of saying whatever he'd started with Mattie was a mistake. Somehow, he knew that was one of the rare times that things had gone right. She was silently supportive, endlessly patient- and most of all, Tig finally had somebody to come back to when he returned from a run. Just a small smile when he walked into the clubhouse, a reminder that somebody had missed him while he was gone… Tig didn't know why that felt so damn good.

But he couldn't say any of that to Colleen. She'd just laugh in his face. _The Saint managed to make a pet out of the Psychopath? How romantic_, Colleen would mock, using her favorite nicknames. Mattie'd been the Saint since she was just a kid, mostly because Book would go on and on about her accomplishments at school. How high her grades were and how well she could play the piano. Or he'd talk about the gentle way Mattie watched over all the club kids when she played babysitter on weekends. Colleen had gotten sick of it real fast, and only used the moniker when neither Book nor Mattie were around. Gemma, too.

Because Colleen really did not like the Queen calling out her bad behavior.

And suddenly, Tig had an idea.

* * *

><p>Jax smiled down at the girl wedged between him and the couch, brushing a dark curl from her cheek. Mattie stirred, moaning something unintelligible before she buried her face deeper in his chest, ruining his chances of dashing off to the bathroom without waking her. Oh well, he thought, distractedly listening to the contrasting rhythms of Mattie's breathing and a ticking clock somewhere in her living room, wondering why the hell it'd seemed like such a good idea to crash on the couch together.<p>

Together. That was the key word, the element that felt the strangest. Him and Mattie sitting on her back porch, a bottle of vodka handed back and forth. He'd tucked her into his side out of habit, but eventually- when he'd swigged enough alcohol to fuzz rational thought- it'd felt like real affection instead of platonic familiarity. That's why Jax suggested crashing on the couch in her living room, even if he had to basically carry Mattie inside in order to convince her.

He liked the tone of her squealing protests as he lofted her past the sliding glass door, the rumble of laughter when he finally set her down. The quick flicker of rolled eyes when he switched on old episodes of _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_, a show that they used to watch when they were still called SAMCRO babies. Then there was her soft skin that touched his without flinching. Teasing full lips pursed in a smile. Warmth. That's what he'd felt last night. Care free for the first time in months.

In the morning, Jax was still having a hard time comprehending that it was Mattie who manufactured that in him. Shit, they'd practically been raised side by side for the past seventeen years. Even Gemma slipped sometimes and called her his sister. Although his ma always corrected herself immediately- she was still convinced that Jax and Mattie were destined for an inevitable trip down the aisle. Yeah. They were. Except they were going to be married to different people.

Because, truth was, he wasn't over Tara. Never would be, he supposed, but it wasn't something that he went around telling people. Though he figured that Mattie knew in her own little way, the way that she knew just about everything with a single look. Fucking frustrating as hell when considering she was just about the most close-lipped person he knew. Nothing more dangerous than a liar with no tells, he'd heard Book say once, with no idea that he'd been describing his own daughter.

Jax had long ago gotten used to the idea of his emotions being laid bare by one glance, and so he was sure that Mattie was well aware of how badly he still ached for Tara. She'd gotten inside of him, made herself a little home in both his mind and his heart, and then split so quickly that he had no idea what to do with those empty spaces. So far he'd been pretty content filling them with booze, but that couldn't contain him forever. In all honesty, that approach hadn't been working for a long time.

Jax couldn't just box things up for later. He had to process all his longing and misery and failure the moment he experienced them or else they'd never disappear. All that unease building up like a second skin, weighing him down. He couldn't control it. Tara left him with nothing but all the lingering shit inside him, pieces that he couldn't sort out but moreover, couldn't ignore. It affected his judgment, making his position inside the club especially unwieldy. Which he really fucking hated- Jax wasn't a Son out of duty or legacy, he was a Son out of desire, out of his own need.

Damn it. Leave it to a bitch- even inside his own head he couldn't muster the hate to make that declaration really bite- to fuck up his stability. If Jax hadn't seen Tara leave with his own eyes, he might've thought that she'd taken up permanent residence inside his head instead of San Diego.

Eight hours away might as well had been light years, the way the two of them left it. The well-fitting, complicated jigsaw puzzle that was their relationship broken, some pieces with her, Jax left holding the jagged remains. Months later, he still couldn't decide whose fault it was, his, hers or an outside influence, but then again, it didn't really matter. Tara was gone and she wasn't coming back. No amount of dwelling on that would change anything.

Catharsis, Jax found, was impossible.

There was a shuffle of movement in the kitchen then, interrupting his self-destructive line of thought. A cabinet opening and closing, the sound of a coffee pot being prepped. Just Book, Jax assumed, relaxing. Must've gotten home somewhere between the hours of three- when they'd crashed- and eleven- when he'd woken.

Jax smirked to himself when Book wandered out into the living room carrying a mug of coffee and well, a book, not bothering to give the pair a second glance. Mattie's father could be deceptively strict- giving his daughter free rein around the club and just about nowhere else- but Jax was a known quantity. _I don't want to break it to your mother, but I don't think there's ever gonna be a Teller-Cardinal union. _Good thing he hadn't been around the night before, or else Jax would've had his ass kicked out the front door.

"You look comfortable." Book remarked quietly, quirking a ginger eyebrow in question.

"Kinda. But soon I'm gonna hafta piss something terrible." Jax replied with as much of a shrug he could manage.

"Well, if you don't have the heart to wake her, don't worry. Tig's s'posed to be over soon to help me fix that damn shower, and he's about as quiet as a fucking jet engine." Book took a deep sip before continuing, "If that doesn't get her up, we'd better call St. Thomas."

Jax's fists clenched at the mention of Tig, who, in his opinion, shouldn't be allowed within a hundred yards of Mattie. She never said anything about it- he couldn't describe what kind of temporary insanity led to the expectation that she might- but he was convinced that something had gone down between the two. What exactly, well, Jax wasn't sure he really wanted to know the details.

"Very funny, Daddy." Mattie muttered, finally stirring. She peered up at Jax with one bleary hazel eye, the other closed against the sunlight pouring through the open blinds. "G'morning."

"Mornin' gorgeous." Jax returned with a grin. Mattie shook her head before returning it to his chest, a sigh reverberating through his t-shirt. Mixed feelings aside, he couldn't quite deny that her warm body was particularly pleasant against his. Hopefully Book didn't notice.

When Book Cardinal asked, "What're your plans for the day?" to nobody in particular, Jax was pretty sure he was off the hook.

"Is this one of the times when I say nothing and then you helpfully give me an impossible list of errands to finish?"

"Just need you to run to the hardware store if you want your shower fixed before you go off to college." Book answered, setting his coffee cup on the end table at his elbow with a heavy clunk. "But if you'd rather deal with shoddy water pressure and a leaky ceiling until September, that's perfectly fine with me, kiddo."

"Okay, when you put it that way, Daddy, your requests sound perfectly reasonable. Just tell me what you need and I'll pick it up, as long as it fits in my car." Mattie finally said with a mostly obscured smirk.

"So no lumber and dry wall in your little shit-mobile, then?"

"You bought me that shit-mobile, so that remark is a slight upon you as well as me." Mattie propped herself up at bit to glance across the room at her father.

Book just raked his hand through his shaggy orange hair at that remark, effectively shrugging it off. "That's enough witty banter for me. Gonna go get ready to tackle that mess of a bathroom." He looked at the clock on the mantel, "Could you at least attempt to motivate sometime before noon?"

"I'll see what I can do!" Mattie called after him. The stairs began to creak and that's when she decided to swing a leg over Jax, in preparation for leaving her spot on the couch.

But he was quicker, lifting a knee to block her ascent, catching her hands in his. A wrinkle between her eyebrows formed and settled almost imperceptibly, the only sign of her confusion. Or maybe it'd been irritation, he couldn't tell precisely which in that too-short expanse.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Jax growled, trying his best to sound playful. And maybe he almost did, but without a reaction- Mattie was couching hers like the pro she was- he had no idea whether it'd worked or not.

"To get dressed, if it should please the sir." She mocked, attempting to pull away but only managing to buck her hips into him instead. The action stopped almost as soon as it began.

"I don't see how you're uncomfortable, considering you've been wearing those clothes since yesterday."

"Jax." Mattie groaned dangerously. "Come on."

He held her in place for a few moments more, looking for a chink in her famous armor. But she was the picture of placidity. The only warning sign was the lowered tone of her voice, but that didn't register in her relaxed posture or even expression. How did she do it? How the fuck did she manage to come off like nothing was wrong? All Jax did was fumble and fall and make a fool of himself, and here Mattie was, her feathers all riled but none out of place.

At that moment, Jax realized that his actions between that morning and the night before weren't actual affectionate feelings. They were just ways of forcing a reaction beyond unflappable silence from Mattie. Proof that there wasn't something wrong with Jax because he couldn't achieve the same results. Because he couldn't hide the emotional shit, couldn't pass it off with a pretty turn of phrase or a dismissive shrug. Mattie could, though, and it drove him fucking crazy. Jax knew that he was pissing her off by holding her back. He knew it. And so did she. Probably knew that he knew- as complicated and redundant and annoying as that fucking idea was- but she wasn't doing anything about it.

Completely composed.

_React_, he thought, _just give me something so that I know I'm not the only screw up around here_.

Jax was just about to angrily demand an response beyond her cool stare, but the front door opened with the warning of a doorbell or a knock, heavy footfalls heading through the vestibule into the living room. He knew exactly who it was, which just pissed him off more. Goddamn it, Tig. Always with the fucking grand entrances.

"Hey, Book? Door was open so I took the liberty of inviting myself in-" The stunned pause in his greeting was finished with a dark declaration of, "Holy mother-of-goddamn-fucking Christ."

Jax was about to ask where he'd gotten such a colorful blasphemy from, but it was the swift twist of Mattie's back as she turned that caught him off guard instead. The sudden freeze in all her limbs, the brief look of surprise as she turned to view Tig- it unsettled Jax as much as it comforted him. Because despite the asshole who caused the reaction, uneasy tension was a break from the cultivated calm Mattie'd been treating Jax with. A sign that some of her compartmentalized boxes came loose every now and again.

Nobody's perfect, Jax mused with an inward grin as the big bastard's previously cocky sneer dissolved into something vaguely predatorily. But dwelling on Tig's transformation was for another time. Now Jax had to figure out how to get Mattie to stop inadvertently straddling him.

* * *

><p>Mattie walked through Mick's Hardware in a daze, desperately trying to use her third trip down the plumbing aisle as an excuse to buy time. Book would be suspicious about her near hour-long trip, but that was the least of her concerns. Could just blame her delay on another customer taking up Mick's time.<p>

See, at least she could come up with a sufficient excuse for _something_. Her damning perch atop Jax that morning? Yeah, not so much. Every explanation Mattie planned had been quickly discarded- the best she'd been able to come up with was that they'd been play-wrestling which made her seem _real_ innocent- to point where she was beginning to think that it'd be easier to just never see or speak to Tig ever again. She could avoid him until September, right? How difficult would that be?

Shit. Confrontation was really not her strong suit. Mattie was best behind the line of fire, because it gave her enough time to bolster defenses and formulate an effective offense. Maybe it was fucked up to think of a simple conversation that way, but shit, she _was_ the daughter of a Cardinal made methodical look haphazard. And while Mattie was not quite that tactical, she'd inherited enough of his discipline to realize that there really was no adequate amount of time to prepare for the inevitable conversation with Tigger.

Wrong time, wrong place. That was the best she'd concocted, though it sounded pretty pathetic. Mattie hadn't meant to be on that couch with Jax. It'd been her intention earlier in the evening to let him have the sofa while she enjoyed her own bed, but that'd been before he presented the bottle of vodka. Before he got weirdly affectionate, alternating gentle touches with overtly tender glances. It didn't mean anything, just a combination of the alcohol and his leftover feelings for absent Tara, so Mattie just let Jax be. When they went inside, she should've put her foot down, but he was so damn insistent. SAMCRO baby sleepover, he'd said, like when they were little.

Mattie still didn't know how they managed to fall asleep in such an unruly position, but when she'd woken up her lower body was pinned between him and the couch. Not to mention the one arm curved behind his neck. Shit, she could still feel phantom pins and needles in her right hand.

How? How had she made such a stupid decision? All her instincts fought against the corner that Jax'd been continuously backing her into, from the sleeping arrangement to the way he'd desperately pinned her wrists. Worst part was that if Mattie really wanted to wrench out of his grasp, she could've- but for some fucked up reason, she just… didn't. Shit, she wasn't sure why she didn't flip herself off that couch as soon as she awoke, why she was tempted to stay in Jax's arms. Wasn't attraction. Insanity, perhaps? Or was it trust? Giving into someone you loved even if you knew it was wrong.

Damn it.

Mattie didn't even know why she was so concerned about Tig's delicate sensibilities- ha!- anyway. Their relationship was basically nonexistent. Scattered moments of affection amongst long periods of inactivity. He was the same man as he was before she decided to share the fact that her nagging crush bloomed into actual feelings. What if what she'd interpreted as reciprocity was just pity? Or common lust? She knew he was fucking his brains out while she remained chaste as a school girl- which coincidentally, until the middle of June at least, she was. Maybe he was just biding his time until he could add her to his extensive list of bed partners. Could Mattie handle being a notch on a bedpost?

Did she need whatever messed up shit she had with Tig to lead to something more?

Mattie wanted to hate him for turning her into a tentative mess of emotions. But that was her fault, wasn't it? She leapt without looking, and now, she was going to suffer the consequences. At first, she believed the crush she had on the completely inaccessible man was normal. Healthy. Something to tempt herself with that'd never actually happen. Then he'd unintentionally saved her life. After that, her sentiments went into over drive. Just some innocent hero worship. That's when he got possessive, though. And Mattie decided that behavior meant… Shit, she didn't know. It was fucking impossible to know what was going on Tig' s head. She didn't understand him. So, yeah, maybe she _wanted_ to think that his behavior meant something more than it did. That he had more than just a platonic affinity for her.

Mattie hated this. She hated the vast grey area of the unknown. She wasn't even sure if Tig had a reason to be jealous of her accidental caper with Jax.

So why fucking worry about explaining herself?

That's what Mattie decided on the ride home. Screw it. If Tig had a problem with what she'd done that morning, then let him say something. And she'd tell him that it was nothing, because that's what it honestly was. If he believed it or not, she didn't care. Her life in Charming would be ending in a few short months, and whatever was or wasn't going on would be over by then.

At least a little bit of the pressure would gone with the Prince- as Tig called him- out of the way. Jax's bike was gloriously gone when Mattie turned into her driveway, Bobby's in its place. Even if her uncle's idea of 'helping' with manual labor usually involved swilling beers and swapping stories instead of actual work. If it'd been anybody else, Book might've considered him a distraction, but the two men were so close that sometimes Mattie found it hard to believe that they weren't brothers.

By blood, anyhow.

Stumbling in the front door with heavy bags, Mattie was pleased to see that her prediction had been right- Bobby was sitting in front of the TV with the remote in one hand and a Miller in the other.

"Shit, kid, your dad was about to get the cavalry together to come lookin' for ya. I told him it was just a dumb idea to send a woman to the hardware store." Bobby teased.

"I had to have Mick look in the stockroom for something. Took a little longer." Mattie ignored her uncle's mocking comment, craning her head down the hall. "They up or down?"

"Book's investigating the leak upstairs, Tig is down."

"Tig's in my bathroom?" Wasn't something she meant to ask, but it was out her mouth before she could reconsider.

"Why? Afraid the big freaky bastard's going through your unmentionables?" Her uncle's tone was mostly buoyant, though undermined by the implication that his idea was possible.

"Just clarifying."

Mattie left the packages in the living room before heading upstairs to her father's lair. Originally, the two second-story bedrooms were hers and George's, the one downstairs belonging to her parents. When Reese left and took George with her, Mattie and Book wordlessly switched areas. He used the extra room upstairs as a mini library; she liked the privacy of the in-suite bathroom in the master. It just worked. Or maybe it was an unhealthy dissociation from the pain of how things had once been. She didn't know. Didn't want to dwell on it, really.

Although that switch meant Tig was literally steps outside- or inside, if she wanted to be technical- her bedroom. And that was bugging the shit out of her.

Book had knocked out a portion of wall inside his shower, inspecting the pipes within using a flashlight. Had just enough time to cast his daughter a disapproving look before continuing his assessment of the plumbing.

"Sent you out near over an hour ago."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Can't find the damn leaky pipe anyway. Must be on Tig's end of things." Book took a step back, stretching his back. "Mind going downstairs to check if he's had any luck?"

Mattie's stomach lurched. Yeah, she did, but she wasn't going to tell her father that. "Will do."

Had the distance between the top floor and the main story suddenly shrunk? She could've sworn she'd taken twice as many steps on the way up, that she usually needed more footsteps between the staircase and her bedroom. Apprehensive, Mattie tucked just her head inside her own doorway, knowing all the while that it was unnecessary. Tig wouldn't try anything- what she was expecting to see anyway, him searching through her belongings?- with both Book and Bobby in the house.

Hell, maybe it was safer to approach Tigger than she thought. No way he'd risk having an argument with her, considering that he was outnumbered by her family two-to-one. Plus he knew how far Book would fly off the deep end if he got even a whiff of trouble.

When she walked in, Tig used a scrap of electric blue cotton to wipe his brow as he bent upwards, staring into the opposite end of Book's void of pipes. But his position wasn't what interested her. That familiar fold of azure in his palm- her underwear. The same pair she'd worn when she accosted him not too long ago in his apartment. But- Where- Shit. Should she be turned on? Repulsed? But she didn't have the chance to make that particular decision before Tig turned to look at her.

"What are you doing?" Mattie hissed, unsure whether Book could hear her through the open space between floors.

"Trying to figure out how the hell you fucked up your plumbing!"

Mattie's legs brought her too close too quickly, and she snatched the fabric from his hand before she could really process her actions. "What are you doing with _these_?"

Tig's gaze narrowed. Blue eyes turned into steel, removing whatever resolve Mattie thought she'd gathered. He found her hips with his hands, purposely gliding callused fingertips underneath her t-shirt, gaining purchase on bare skin. Breathing tightening with every inch he'd territorially marked with his touch, Tig leaned forward, nestling the barely veiled hardness hidden the crotch of his jeans against her belly. Fear and want trounced the trepidation inside her veins, Mattie hopelessly immobile between his lust and wrath.

"What were you doing with _him_?" Tig growled, his voice pressed against the shell of her right ear. If it were anybody else so close, Mattie might've tensed, but instead she just melted into the heat of his words.

"Nothing." Mattie moaned quietly as Tig's pressure increased around her waist.

His mouth dipped into the crook of her neck, teeth grazing her flesh in fluid, precise movements. "What," Another barely there bite, "Were you," Fingers now taut enough to bruise, "Doing with," Lips darting towards her collarbone, "_Him_?"

"A mistake." She managed to mumble. Tig pushed her out of the bathroom, into the open space of her bedroom. Too close to the door just outside the realm of her uncle's vision. But he continued until she was right up against that very door, his arousal still tight in the curve of her stomach, another warning of how close Tig teetered towards the edge.

"Did you fuck him?" Tig's question was barb-less, but she was too distracted by the way he locked her bedroom door to really notice.

"My dad-"

"Did you fuck Jax, baby?"

Surprised that his demand diminished into a soft, tentative whisper, Mattie forgot about all her reservations. Lasting or not, Tig felt something for her. Something that made him react violently and tenderly, probably that same something that created the sentimental- and admittedly, mostly perverted- need to snatch her panties right off the basket of clean laundry on her bed.

Mattie was entranced by his possessiveness, unnerved by his ability to remove her guards. He tore off her armor and unapologetically looked within her without permission. Tig didn't care what he found, just wanted to explore. Those blue eyes always had a way of leaving her bare. Bare, but free. Invigorated and calm at the same time. Like nobody else did. Not Jax, not David, just Tigger.

He made her insides burn in anticipation when they were in the clubhouse at the same time. Her thoughts raced with the idea of him, with the promise of something more that hadn't been offered just yet. Whatever was happening between Mattie and Tig… no matter how frightened she was of the unknown, she still wanted it. Wanted him.

He lifted Mattie again, leaving their spot at the doorway, sauntering backwards until the crooks of her knees were flush against the foot of her bed. Away from the exposed innards of the bathroom, from the too-thin barrier of the door. Granting her enough privacy to answer.

Mattie threaded her fingers through his hair, finding friction in the curls. "No, I didn't. And I wouldn't."

Tig nodded, removing half the pressure from her hips. Trailing his right hand lower, he slipped it beneath the waistband of her loose sweatpants, palm curling upwards against her panties. Mattie whimpered, knees giving. He caught her easily- slowly, maddeningly tracing lazy figure eights into the cotton all the while. Enough to make her arch further into the hardness sheltered between her abdomen and his jeans. Didn't he want to wait until her birthday? What happened to that determined resolution?

"I saw you with Jax, and I…" Tig ran his tongue along her jaw. "I fucking exploded. I wanted to kill him for touching you. For looking at you. For even thinking about you."

He pushed aside her underwear, running a finger through her wetness. Mattie cried out then, unable to bite back her reaction. Snickering quietly, Tig was sure to keep his intrusive touch away from that small bundle of nerves that was already thrumming in desire.

"Because you're mine, Matilda." A swirl around her clit, deliberately avoiding closer contact. "All mine."

"Show me." Mattie begged breathlessly, head lolling back.

"Yeah? You like this, baby?"

Mattie couldn't force an answer past her lips. Not when he slid two digits inside her, driving them up and down with eager abandon. Just his damn hand and she lost all rational capacity for thought. What would happen when Tig fucked her for real? Just how outrageously would she come apart?

"I asked you a question." Tigger pulled away and Mattie whined in protest. "Do you like when I touch you?"

"Tig!" Her tongue and teeth couldn't form a yes or no. Well, a yes. Because shit, she did like it.

"Answer."

"Oh god, yes, I fucking love it." Mattie groaned, and he resumed his thrusting.

"Good." Tig kissed her, hard and hungrily, parting her lips effortlessly. The velvet of his mouth made her hips buck, and he smiled against her. "Shit, baby, you're so wet and so damn tight. So fucking tight."

Mattie's grip on his shoulders tightened, and she felt his cheek tense, gritting his teeth at the strain of supporting them both. Her bed and its forbidden planes loomed temptingly behind them, covers ruffled messily. Brushing her laundry basket to the carpet, she pulled him downwards, their bodies separating for the first time in what seemed like hours, hissing disappointedly when his hand snapped out of the waistband of her pants.

"Can't." Tig grunted. "We crawl into that bed and your clothes are gonna fly off."

"Good."

"Sweetheart, if I fuck you, it's not going to be quiet. Won't be able to just moan and groan when I'm buried deep." Tig huffed in an arrogant sigh.

"I'll be good. Promise."

He smirked at that. "Oh, you're _good, _huh? You're not being a bad girl, seducing me while your Dad and uncle are just a few walls away?

"I'm seducing you? Whose hand was in whose pants?" Mattie asked with a raised eyebrow, boldly adding, "But you can put that hand back to work now."

"Only if you promise that whatever shit I walked in on this morning will never happen again." He took a step closer to her bed. "If you promise that I am the only man you'll let inside you from this point on."

Mattie couldn't hide her loving gaze, didn't bother couching it in humor or dismissal. "I promise."

"Good. Because like I said, you're mine." Tigger crept onto the mattress, slowly slipping his fingers inside her once again.

Mattie did her best to keep quiet as he continued his ministrations- balling up her sheets in her hands, shutting her eyes and arching her back. His touch was expert, deliberate, nothing at all like the fumbling way David Hale once explored. Tig knew when to push harder, when to pinch her clit between thumb and forefinger. Always stopping when she was dastardly close to falling over the precipice, massaging a clothed breast in his opposite hand instead. He murmured into her skin, words sending sexual charges down her spine. _I like the way I make you writhe. I like the way you curl your toes in anticipation. I like the way you say my name. _

It didn't take long before an immense shudder resonated from between her legs, vibrating across flesh and nerves and bones, Mattie's body surging with unbelievable euphoria like nothing she'd ever experienced. Everything was weak in a peculiar way, as though her every muscle participated in the orgasm. Energy still dancing behind her eyes, she looked over to Tigger, who expression cockily proclaimed that he knew exactly the kind of wobbly puddle he'd turned her into.

"You're mine," Tigger growled again, rolling atop Mattie. She swore that the erect bundle in his jeans was impossibly sharp. God, he must be tortured, she briefly mused, enjoying his arousal.

Her brain eventually started to find its usual wavelength, worries filtering through despite the reverberations still coursing deep within. What she did with Tigger, on a moral level, was probably wrong. Letting a man twice her age touch her in places that the law said he shouldn't. But it felt so damn good. So fuck wrong. Fuck the difference in age. Fuck everybody else's idea of perversion.

"All yours." She mumbled in return.

A hard clatter of a metal tool against a porcelain tub forced Mattie and Tig apart, as did the victorious shout of, "found it!" from upstairs. But it was okay, because as she stumbled back into the living room- after changing clothes, since her shower was inaccessible- nobody noticed her brief disappearance or how the door to her bedroom had been locked shut for twenty minutes.

Everything was okay. Nobody had any idea of what'd just happened between her and Tig.

Or so she'd thought.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally got my butt in gear and wrote a flashback! Hopefully the smuttiness turned out okay, I always feel like such an amateur when I write it. Anyway, thanks so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	32. Chapter 32

_I guess that it's true you never knew_

_The passive power of the truth, so cut me loose_

_If I could write another phrase_

_We might be better off this way_

_But there's no use_

_No, there's no use_

_The Only One – Manchester Orchestra_

* * *

><p>"You're losing your touch, Tig." Book ended his statement with a rumbling laugh, "Gotta keep your hands up if you don't want Koz to kick your ass."<p>

Tig mumbled something in reply, his gaze cutting across the yard to where Mattie and Donna were lounging across a picnic bench dragged out into the sun. His girl, all stretched out like a damn cat, a content little smile on her lips. A sliver of pale skin visible between the waistband of her blue jeans and the hem of her black t-shirt. Tig swallowed hard as he followed the curves of her hips up to the swell of her tits, hands- and other places- twitching involuntarily as he took her in.

And then, as Book quirked an eyebrow at him, Tig gave into the hideous tug of guilt that shook his core. It'd been five days since that fiasco with Colleen, and he was waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Back on Monday morning, Tig went right into the office to talk with Gemma. After all, nobody else knew how to shut up an ex-Old Lady like the Queen. He was honest about what was going on with Mattie- though left out certain details, like what'd happened in her bedroom the day before- and the stupid shit he'd said to Colleen. He watched Gemma digest the information, her expression shifting from intrigued to irritated to flat-out furious, and at that point, he knew that whatever she'd decide to do was going to be a pain in the ass.

"I fucking told you, Tigger, I fucking told you to let well enough alone." Gemma seethed, slamming a fist against her desk. Luckily, both the office doors were closed, so there was only about a fifty-percent chance of the whole garage hearing her freak out.

"I know. I tried to listen-"

"But you're an idiotic asshole who thinks with his cock instead of his brain anyway, right? I told you stop with that shit months ago, and you lied right to my fucking face."

Tig couldn't help feeding off her rage, pissed that she'd think his feelings for Mattie were only motivated by lust. He'd long ago abandoned that idea, knowing that the curly haired brunette stirred up just as many of his dormant emotions as she did his libido.

"I didn't lie to you, Gem. I might've ignored your advice, but I didn't fucking lie. And yeah, I'll admit whatever attracted me to Matt at first was shallow, but now, shit, I don't know. It's deeper than that. More important than just wanting to sleep with her." For some reason the implication that Mattie was just another girl he was going to fuck really rubbed him the wrong way. Slandered his honor- and hers- or something like that.

The Queen rubbed her temples before returning her attention back to Tig. "First of all, you better be treating that girl with some sort of chivalry, Tigger, or I will cut your goddamn balls off. Second of all, I was talking about Colleen and not Mattie. I told you back in December, the last time you decided to fool around with your ex-wife, that it was a bad idea. You know she's a diabolical cunt."

"So you're not mad about Mattie-"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking pissed about that. Beyond pissed, but you're not the only one to blame for that decision. But we have make sure Colleen doesn't ruin both your and Mattie's reputations before I can even fathom why you're suddenly crazy over a seventeen-year-old girl." Gemma took a deep breath. "But I guess it's not all that sudden, is it?"

"Guess not." Tig admitted, shifting uncomfortably. Gemma's direct stare was making him itchy.

"Did you really think about this? Did you really think about whether this was the right decision to make?"

Christ. What the fuck was he supposed to say? That he made a list of pros and cons? That he and Mattie sat down and had a long conversation? Shit, he didn't know what Gemma wanted to hear. Truth was, for a long time, the situation with Mattie was all he could think about, one way or another. Whether it was right or wrong to feel a certain way about a girl whose maturity was years beyond her actual age. Whether it was a good idea to ruffle things with Book by consorting with his kid. Whether Mattie actually knew who she was dealing with when she was with him, if she was ready to deal with all the fucked-up shit he brought to a relationship.

He'd killed people. Not just the deserving, but women. Children. He had an ex-wife who was a conniving bitch and two daughters that were sure to turn out just like her. He lived like a careless bachelor for who knew how many years because he couldn't figure out how to be a good husband. Tigger fucked who he wanted when he wanted, and didn't know if that could change.

And he could add molestation to that long list of failures, if he was being honest with himself. He shouldn't have touched Mattie, shouldn't have wanted to hear his name hissed between her underage lips. But he did. And if he hadn't been for Book and Bobby in the house, shit, he wouldn't have been able to control himself. Tig would've taken her right there, despite the fact that he'd promised that he'd wait for her eighteenth birthday.

Seriously, though, when was the last time that Tig Trager was able to keep a promise that didn't involve the club?

"Gemma…" Tig ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time. "Yeah. I did think about it. I hemmed and hawed for fucking months, tried to talk myself out of choosing her. And every time I tell myself that enough is enough, I'll see Mattie and I just… Shit. I see her and it's like everything plummets. My goddamn heart beats and I smile and I can't do anything but look at her. And I fucking hate that it happens because no matter how good it feels to be around her, there's people like you and her dad and her uncle that look at the two of us and talk about how wrong it is."

"It's because you're a thirty-six year old man and she's-"

"I know. I _know_."

"Tigger, you're a stubborn son of a bitch. There's nothing that I can say that'll change your mind. But you do realize that you're gonna have to talk to Book about this. He'll go fucking ballistic if he finds out any other way."

"You think?" Mattie was daddy's little girl. And her daddy just happened to be very good at murdering people.

"It's gotta be man to man or this is always going to be a problem. And that's the last thing the club needs." Gemma counseled, leaning back in her desk chair. "Besides, if you don't speak to him, then I don't speak to Colleen and clean up your goddamn mess."

She was right about the Sons not needing to get involved and that Colleen needed to be shut up as soon as possible. Didn't make it any easier to approach Book Cardinal though, and Tig avoided talking with him for days, the passing of every twenty-four hours pressing another brick of guilt on Tig's shoulders. Not just guilt, though. Shame. Worry. Indecision. Should he warn Mattie? Should he talk to Clay, see what the President thought about everything? Was it all worth it?

And under the unsettlingly dark blue eyes of Book Cardinal himself, Tig was flooded with even more unanswered questions. Isolating the man by asking him to coach Tig for the fight later that evening felt like a good idea earlier, but now… Tig wasn't sure anymore. He wasn't sure about fucking anything.

Except for Mattie. The girl sunning herself only yards away, laughing at something Donna whispered in her ear. Dark chestnut curls bronzed by the sun, cheeks rosy and freckled. Young and vibrant and making his goddamn mouth water even though ratty jeans and a baggy t-shirt mostly hid her curves.

She'd more or less been wearing the same thing on Sunday afternoon, when Tig saw her on top of Jax. He hadn't been anticipating his own reaction- the tensing of his entire body, his heart contorting painfully before falling deep into the pit of his stomach- and had figured if she changed her mind about things with him that it'd be no skin off his back. Tig would move on, go back to being an insufferable asshole, and Mattie would be just another club kid again. But he was livid. And devastated.

He didn't know how to handle that particular emotion. Didn't even realize that he was that attached to Mattie, to be honest. Then he caught her in that uncomfortable position with the Prince and things became abundantly clear. Tig… shit, did he really want to admit it? There was one four-lettered word that made certain commitment-phobic men like him immediately weak in the knees, one that he didn't break out for just anybody, but really, he was starting to feel it.

When she walked into her own bathroom, looking at him with hazel eyes that were more defiant than afraid, Tig needed to show her. Needed to make sure that Mattie knew that Tig could make her feel something that Jax couldn't. Tigger was predatory and dominating and so fucking desperate to prove that Mattie was his that he shoved her out into the bedroom and teased a hand down her panties.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tig had thought that if he left her wanting more, then she wouldn't choose Jax. Then, after he guided Mattie to an orgasm and Book made a clamor upstairs about finding the leaking pipe, she turned to Tig, looking dreamy and satisfied. Ran her fingers around his chest in a soothing oval before kissing him softly, the act full of bright desire.

"Y'know, there's nothing going on between Jax and I. Never was. Never will be." Mattie pressed her lips against his again. "It's you and me."

_You and me_. Tig liked that promise.

Enough that he kept his promise to Gemma.

"Hey, Book. You gotta second to listen?" Tig asked as nonchalant as he could manage, which, of course, made the older man instantly leery.

"Sure, Tig. Anything for my Sergeant-at-Arms." Book retorted, setting down the padded gloves that Tig had been sparring against.

"Funny, funny." He was uncharacteristically nervous. "Might want to take a seat, though."

Book smirked, but headed over to where a couple of plastic lawn chairs had been set just outside the ring, away from all the little pockets of conversation outside. Might've been better to do it someplace more isolated- no, maybe not, considering that if Book overreacted, Tig would like somebody to be able to find his body.

"Tigger, you look 'bout ready to shit yourself. Whatever you got to say, get it over with, brother."

Tig did his best to look straight into Book's eyes, his entire body tensing as he made the contact. Was he just supposed to spit it out? Or was there some sort of finesse involved- _hey, I fell for your seventeen-year-old daughter and I swear it isn't as creepy as you think_. Shit. The feelings were hard enough to fucking deal with, but putting them into words…

Maybe it was better to do it slowly and awkwardly. Tig had to stop thinking about what he was going to say; because the more he mulled things over, the more garbled the words were going to come out of his mouth. Admitting to Gemma what he'd done was one thing- she was a co-conspirator, a confidant- but telling Book that Tig planned to fuck Mattie the moment she turned eighteen, yeah, that was something he'd never figure out how to phrase.

"It's about Mattie." Tig finally sighed, leaning back. Best to put as much physical distance between him and Book as possible.

Even if Cardinal had a reputation for long, quick arms.

"What's that s'posed to mean, Tiggy?" His tone was instantly distrustful, and Tig could sense the gears turning in the other man's mind. Book was like Mattie that way- or rather, she was like her father- always trying to remain one step ahead, no matter what.

"I'm… I'm not exactly sure how to say this."

Book stood then, his plastic chair tumbling backwards. He began to pace back and forth, his freckled limbs all frenetic energy, gesturing wildly even if the man wasn't speaking. Aloud, at least. Tig could almost track the silent conversation by the distinct movements of Book's hands, though he wasn't quite pleased with the translation. He'd only witnessed the behavior a handful of times- all when Book was figuring out how to kill a target for the club. Strategic planning, he'd called it, running all the scenarios in his head until he reached a suitable conclusion.

Goddamn Gemma and her ultimatums. Even if it was technically Tig's fault for not being able to separate fantasy from reality.

"I trusted you, Tig. I fucking trusted that you wouldn't be stupid enough to do anything with her. I told every-fucking-body that you were too smart to stoop that low." Book finally snarled. "They all warned me, even Clay, even goddamn Gemma, to keep Matt away from you. I didn't fucking listen. And I don't know whether that makes me or you the bigger asshole."

"Book-"

"Let me finish. Let me finish before you give me some bullshit excuse about your goddamn sexually perverted nature and how you just couldn't help yourself. I know that's what you're going to say because it's always what you say; it's always the same excuse. It's just how you are, right? A fucking stubborn asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his pants if his prick was sewn into his jeans, who gets away with whatever he fucking wants because he's the Sergeant-at-Arms and because he's an unpredictable psycho with an itchy trigger finger. But guess what, Tigger? That doesn't fucking frighten me. I've been around the block. I've met men with bigger egos than you. I've killed men who've pissed me off less than you have.

"So what was it, Tigger? You finally realize that she's not just a kid anymore? Catch a glimpse of her and it get your libido flowing? Or are you sicker than we all originally thought? Maybe that's why your ex-wife has your kids, maybe she's trying to keep them away from a fucking pedophile-"

Tig's temper had laid surprisingly dormant until Book mentioned his daughters, and then it flared in an incomprehensible fashion. He too was on his feet, facing off with the shorter, leaner Book. They might've been a few yards away from the ring, but that didn't mean Tig couldn't get a few good shots in before somebody broke up the scuffle.

"Don't you fucking dare go for such a low blow. I know you're pissed but that's so far below the belt, buddy, so fucking dirty for an _angel_ like you." Tig spat sarcastically. "Because you're such a good husband that your wife left you and never came back. And you're father of the year because you get drunk every night of the fucking week and let your daughter fend for her goddamn self. I might not get to see my kids, but at least I make sure I'm sober when I do."

Book shook his head, laughing almost maniacally. "That's not even close to true and you know it, Tig. I have two beers after my shift is over, and then I go home and have dinner with Mattie. Sunday through Thursday, motherfucker. Sometimes I'll come back to the club afterwards. Sometimes she'll come with me. Friday and Saturday nights are the only times when I get even close to wasted. And she's either here or safe with the other SAMCRO babies."

"If by safe, you mean gorging themselves on free liquor and doing stupid shit." Tig shot back, knowing that what Book said previously was mostly true. He just wanted to wound the older man any way he could, even if it wasn't successful.

"Hooking up with you would be under the category of stupid shit, right? Or rather, you defiling her."

Tig threw up his hands, almost ready to concede defeat. "Okay. Know what? Judge me however the fuck you want. But know that I haven't 'defiled' her. I haven't slept with her because it means something to me that I wait, because I know she means everything to you. But when she turns eighteen, there's nothing you can do about it. And if she still wants me, then you're going to have to just accept it. Accept me."

"Accept you? Why would I 'accept' you when all you're going to do is fuck her once and then forget about her? Why would I want to reinforce the sort of behavior that's going to break my daughter's heart? It's not like you're going to be there afterwards to pick up the pieces."

Book didn't see anything beyond the difference in age and Tig's reputation. And Tig didn't blame him. He'd fucked things up for himself, years of misbehavior, years of sleeping around and getting shitfaced and flipping a shit over the smallest misdeeds. But he was loyal to the club. To his brothers. He would do anything for any of them or their families. Mattie realized that. In her quiet, unbelievably observant way, she watched Tig and found something more than the detestable monster everybody else saw. He didn't know how she did it, or even why she even bothered to look past his demonic exterior for something redeeming, but she did and shit, it meant more than he could ever explain to her. To anybody.

Tig clenched a fist, frustrated with his own inability to prove himself to Book. Sure, he wasn't a man that went around professing his emotions to anybody that'd listen, but what he felt for Mattie was so goddamn big that he had no idea how Book couldn't fucking perceive it. Tig swelled and glowed when the girl was around, he was proud and scared of her, but most of all, he was content. _Content_. To some, it was such a simple concept, but to him… The sensation was nothing less than monumental.

Tig was a study in abnormalities. Short tempered but quick to offend. A man who savored the women he fucked, but severed the connection not much after his final thrust. An ex-Marine who was a member of a MC that committed more than its share of illegal activities. A father whose relationship with his children was nothing more than obligatory, though his bond with his SOA brothers was both impossibly organic and indestructible. He was rage and perversion and loyalty, all wrapped into one long, lean, mean package. So, no, he'd never been normal, and didn't know how to be, didn't even believe it was fucking possible to be anything but an impulsive and psychotic mess.

Mattie didn't change him. Tig was still Tig when he was with her, still the same bastard everybody within the club knew him to be, but it was like… Damn, he didn't know. Maybe it was because she was young, because she was innocent- well, as innocent as a girl raised by a biker could be- that she didn't focus on all the hateful shit. Mattie came around and reached inside Tigger to turn down the volume on all his baggage. The dishonorable discharge and terrible divorce were muted, to the point where he could concentrate on just her.

Tig had never met anybody so young that was so guarded. Mattie had the innate ability to push people away when she thought they were getting too close to dismantling her armor, always shrinking backwards into a more comfortably private emotional space. That's something he hated about her, how she could look at someone and see _everything_ and yet be so damn opaque herself. It'd taken him months to sidestep her defenses to see the real Mattie.

Beyond the quiet self-assurance that came with being a club kid, Mattie was delicate. Breakable and yet strong, so fiercely devoted her family, both biological and extended, but so fucking afraid of them. After all, she'd been abandoned by her mother when she wasn't much more than seven years old, separated from her brother for basically his entire life. Mattie was exposed to the frailty of relationships when most girls her age were still playing with dolls, and Tig knew it affected her in ways she wouldn't admit. Made her resilient, though. A little wary too.

Christ, if somebody asked Tig six months ago if he thought he'd ever be so attached to Mattie, he'd have laughed. Or flipped out, depending on his mood at the time of the question. For such a non-romantic man, Tig was certainly unexpectedly crazy about her. Too bad that Book couldn't see what was so damn obvious to Tigger.

He glanced back across the lot to Mattie, who was sitting up and tossing a football back and forth with Kozik, who looked characteristically annoying his baggy basketball shorts and lack of a shirt. But she was laughing, a melodic sound that cut through the din of surrounding conversations and the rumble of the garage. Made Tig's stomach drop and leap and do all sorts of unsettling things, pissed him off and comforted him and- shit. Just hearing her giggle at Koz's expense caused a flurry of activity inside Tigger that he almost couldn't handle.

Tig knew what it meant. He knew what sort of four-lettered word was attached to those particular feelings. Didn't want to acknowledge it. Really didn't. But damn, it was there, lodged awkwardly inside of him, taking up all his time and absorbing all his energy. Ignoring L-O-V-E generally made it worse, and that's definitely why Tig was having such a hard time explaining himself to Book without sounding like either a pervert or an idiot.

Somewhere along the line, Tig had decided that the end result would be worth it. He didn't even fucking know what the end result was- sex? An actual relationship?- but that girl who could throw a football in a perfect spiral with little effort, who trusted Tig enough to let him see her most vulnerable and hidden pieces, she was fucking worth it. Worth having an awful conversation with her father, worth accidentally spewing it to Colleen and having to do damage control with Gemma.

So Tig put on his big boy pants- an adaptation of a phrase he'd heard Mattie say to Donna once- and told Book everything.

How else was he supposed to understand?

* * *

><p>If there was one thing that Book Cardinal wasn't expecting to hear come out of Tig's mouth, it was: "I'm in love with your goddamn daughter."<p>

Sure, the basic sentence structure made sense, y'know, nouns and verbs and adjectives- only Tig would refer to Mattie as Book's 'goddamn daughter' in such a delighted and yet defeated matter- but the parts were put together in such an incongruous way that Book swore that Tig'd lost his grip on the English language. Maybe he meant to say: "I'm not in love with your goddamn daughter, Mr. Cardinal, so I please beg your pardon for burdening you with this uncomfortable conversation in the first place." Right? That'd make so much more sense.

Worst part was, Book saw it coming. Not Tig's dramatic declaration- nothing could've prepared him for that- but pretty much everything else. Hard not to see the attraction between the pair, even if it seemed like they communicated solely through not so surreptitious glances instead of actual words. If Tig wasn't thirty-six, Book might've thought he was dealing with two teenagers.

Unfortunately not.

Nope, either Mattie or Tig- maybe Mattie _and_ Tig, since they were such a dynamic duo now- originally made a grievous mathematical error in choosing a lover- ugh, he shouldn't have to use that word in conjunction with his daughter- and decided to keep making that mistake for continuity's sake. Book liked that concept better than acknowledging the idea that his daughter might've found something likeable in the Sergeant-at-Arms. Something desirable.

Shit. This was a disaster that Book had not adequately prepared for, and that was what was really throwing him off. Even if he'd noticed Tig's interest in Mattie, he never thought it was anything more than lust. After all, Tigger wasn't exactly known for his philosophical depth when pursuing relationships- if you decided to call a rumble between the sheets a 'relationship'- and Mattie wasn't known for being forthright with her feelings. She was like her father that way, and while he was proud of that, it didn't exactly make things easy. Girl deflected questions with pretty much no effort, and knew how to lie without guilt. Apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Either tree, actually. After all, Reese was just nineteen when Book hooked up with her, nineteen and beautiful and idealistic. All she wanted was a family to love, she'd said when he first met her, and that's what hooked him. A family? He could give her that in spades. The club was the tightest-knit family Book had ever been part of, despite the fact that only a few of the members were biologically related. Wasn't utopia, he knew that, but it was a good life. A hard one, but definitely worth it.

Reese wasn't even twenty when Mattie was born, and that's when Book realized how ill equipped she was to handle that life. At first he attributed her ambivalence to post-partum depression, but when Matt was pretty much handed off to Gemma when the kid was six months old, he realized that Reese's discontent ran much deeper. Book and Mattie were a ball and chain tethering her to Charming, the Sons and their misdeeds suffocating her. Reese was gone all day and all night, going through money like it was water, and when she was around, shit, she was just insufferable. Bratty and overly opinioned and hypercritical of every-fucking-body. Picked fights with Bobby- her brother warned Book that Reese was a really bad idea, but of course, he didn't listen because he was in love- drove Gemma insane, and ignored her own daughter.

Book would like to think that Mattie didn't notice her mother's disinterest in those early years, but he knew deep down that it was impossible to shield her from it. He tried, and Gemma did her best to distract her, but it all imprinted on Mattie anyway. Maybe that's why she took Reese's departure so much better than he did, even if Book had been anticipating the move for years.

Why she decided to take George but leave Matt was a mystery to Book. Sure, Reese said she had justifiable reasons, but she never bothered to expand upon any of them beyond, "she's part of the club now, and there's nothing I can do to change that." What utter bullshit. Mattie was fucking seven-years-old and she'd gone her entire life without a mother because Reese was too fucking young and stupid to figure her shit out. And that was Book's fault, for choosing her, and he knew that. He knew that it was entirely his fault that Reese abandoned her daughter- his daughter, she'd always been _his_ daughter and he was damn proud of that- and Tig would be fucking sorry if he thought he was going to force Mattie into that same mistake.

Hold on, though. Mattie might be young- younger than Reese had even been- but she wasn't her mother. She was nothing like that woman, and _thank God. _It'd pretty much taken a village- or more correctly, the MC- to raise her, and it showed. Mattie was strong and mature beyond her years, and she knew how to conduct herself. Knew how to protect herself as well, and not just physically. Thought things through, sorted through her emotions and then neatly shelved them. Mattie was never a teenager in a conventional sense, preferring the environment of Teller-Morrow to the mall. Had a mastery of four-lettered words by the time she was ten, spitting them with such expertise that Book wasn't sure whether to reprimand or congratulate her. The father and the biker in him were tied closely together, and it was difficult to exercise one without the other.

Which was why it was so hard to wrap his head around the idea of Mattie and Tigger. Book trusted Tig within the context of the Sons, trusted the man to keep everyone safe and happy, but with Matt… Christ, Book didn't know. Tig was so damn unpredictable and prickly, it was hard to judge what would happen if things went sour between the two. It'd cause both of Book's instincts to fight the another- the father wanting to kick Tig's ass for breaking his daughter's heart, and the biker wanting to comfort a brother in need. Couldn't do both.

The Sons and Mattie were the two most important- the only- pieces of Book's life, and he'd never before had to distinguish between the two. Mattie was a seamless part of the weave of the club's peculiar microcosm of society, just as Tig was. Separate but integrated, in way that an outsider wouldn't understand.

Not separate anymore, though. Book would like to say that Mattie was innocent in all of it, but he knew his daughter too well to make that statement. If she wanted something, she went after it, and apparently, getting out of Charming as soon as possible wasn't her only goal of late. How being involved with a Son factored into that particular aspiration, Book wasn't sure, and obviously Mattie wasn't either. Not if she chose Tig of all people, who'd always been possessive with his women- the croweaters and sweetbutts he fucked once and then discarded notwithstanding.

Jesus. A man was in love with Book's daughter. In _love_, not whatever shit David Hale had felt for her way back when- felt like eons had gone by since, but in reality it was probably less than a year ago when they were a couple. Tig in love. Mattie in love- well, she hadn't actually said as much, but he'd make the assumption in this case. What a weird fucking concept. Tig, angry and mean, unpredictable and loyal. Mattie, the girl who could engage an emotional wall without very much effort at all. Together. The differences were amazing and disgusting and so very incomprehensible, especially to a father, and yet… in some ways, Tig and Matt were a pair. He was more relaxed around her, she was more outgoing in his presence- and Book had seen that in the very short exchanges the two had been allowed.

Mattie was not Reese. Tig wasn't Book. Hard to believe that everything would turn out alright, but as hard it was to watch them happen, he had to let his daughter make her own decisions. And therefore, her own mistakes. And he wasn't being such an arrogant asshole to think that her disturbing relationship with Tig was doomed, nope, just thinking in fatherly terms. Biker terms, too, since it was pretty rare for a long-term thing between a Son and woman to work out well. Only a few Old Ladies managed to hang on over the years- just Gemma and Luann now, since Book was pretty sure Precious and Bobby were on a crash course to divorce.

If a daughter got involved with an older man, a father might caution against it. If a daughter got involved with an older man that was an outsider, a biker father would forbid it. If a daughter got involved with an older man that was a brother, a father that also happened to be a biker might not know whether it was all that appropriate to support it.

Book loved Mattie. And he begrudgingly loved Tig, because Tig was his brother, and had been for almost as long as Book had been a father. But letting those two areas intersect without any rebuttal seemed wrong, neglectful, almost. He didn't want Mattie to become either her mother or her father, didn't want to watch her wade miserably through life because she'd made one bad choice at seventeen. Book also couldn't imagine interrupting something that could potentially make Tig less of an insufferable asshole. Again, the biker and the father couldn't reach a conclusion. Couldn't even get past negotiations because of outrage and confusion.

He sighed, annoyed with the sheer sight of Tigger, looming long and lanky, his curly hair all tousled from the hand he kept running through it while waiting for a response to his declaration. Those ice blue eyes tracked Book's every movement- of which there were many, since Book had a hard time staying still while considering all his options- tensing as he bounced back and forth. Hard to believe that Tigger had been so quietly patient for so long, to the point where Book was wondering whether the man would ever break.

"You want my approval, Tig?" Book finally asked, watching Tig visibly sag with relief.

"I… I don't. I know that she does, though. Might not say it," He grinned, "Definitely won't say it, but she does. You're her world, Book. Daddy's little girl and all that shit."

Daddy's little girl and all that shit. Tigger certainly had a way with fucking words.

Tig didn't have the father's approval. But he definitely had the biker's approval for having to balls to admit that he didn't need to be in Book's good graces in order to continue being with Mattie.

The father and the biker might never reach an agreement, but Book's common sense realized that there was nothing he could do to get in between Tigger and Matt. The more he got involved, the more they'd gravitate towards each other, because that was how these sort of things worked- Jax and Tara being the prime example. Book would also take a step back because he knew that you didn't always fall for the person that was right for you, and you wouldn't always realize that right away. Sometimes though, even when things were really, really wrong, good could come from them.

Book wouldn't have been able to survive after the implosion with Reese if it wasn't for Mattie. Selfish to think that it was a blessing that Reese left Matt behind, but shit, it really was. The father condemned the line of thought, and the biker regarded it as what it was, the truth. An instance where good could come from bad.

And if things did go bad with Tig, Book would be there for Mattie. As a father, a biker, and all the other things that made their dynamic unique. He couldn't predict what would happen, and honestly, didn't want to.

Although, if Matt and Tig went kaput, Book probably wouldn't be able to resist tossing out an, "I told you so."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know it's been forever since I updated, but I must've changed this chapter about five or six times before I finally settled on this version. I know this is weird post since it really doesn't contain Mattie at all, but I thought it might be interesting to try writing from Book's point of view for a change. Hopefully the attempt came out alright and he sounds appropriately fatherly- for a Son, y'know? **

**Also wanted to thank everybody that's been reviewing and favoriting and following this story- it's so motivating when I'm trying to wrangle a chapter into submission. Getting those e-mails really makes me day, and I appreciate the time all of you guys take to read this story. So, thanks so much, and please keep reviewing so that I can take your feedback and turn it into inspiration!**


	33. Chapter 33

_There's a circle of witches_

_Ambitiously vicious they are_

_And our attempts to remind them of reason_

_Won't get us that far_

_And I don't know what it is that they want_

_I don't know what it is that they want_

_But I haven't got it to give_

_But she hasn't got it to give_

_If You Were There, Beware – The Arctic Monkeys_

* * *

><p>Jazmine watched as the Prospect and Mattie jogged in through the front gate at Teller-Morrow, both red-faced and sweaty, but smiling. She didn't mind the Prospect, he was cute and a little dim, plus, he never treated any of the girls badly. But he was only a Prospect. Jazmine didn't have any delusions about the sort of grunt work he had to deal with, the privileges his Old Lady <em>wouldn't<em> have. She was not the sort of woman to start out on the bottom rung of the social ladder. Jazmine didn't climb; she used others to lift her up to where she belonged. After spending four years as a croweater, well, Jazmine thought that she deserved to be all the way at the top, rubbing elbows with Gemma and that doctor bitch Tara.

She'd put her time in. Maybe not as much as some of the other women, but Jazmine was under the impression that her time was much more valuable than say... Allie's, for example. Allie had been one of the club girls for the past ten years, and still hadn't found a Son that would take her to the next level. Jazmine had to admit that Allie knew more about the ins-and-outs of the MC than anybody else- aside from the Old Ladies themselves, of course. Allie was always warning Jazmine to watch herself, to keep her nose out of matters that didn't concern her, that if she wanted to stay under the protective arm of the club then she needed to be more grateful, but honestly? The men didn't want some conservative little flower. They wanted- no, needed- a nympho in bed, a diva out of it, and overall, a bitch that could hold her own amidst all the SOA bullshit. Only Gemma seemed to really handle her shit, and Jazmine, well, she was just like the Queen. Pushy, headstrong, not afraid to tear somebody down a peg. The club needed a woman like Jazmine. Not just to fuck, but to help lead.

So far, Allie was head bitch- a title that the croweaters used amongst themselves- the next in line when a Son came looking for an Old Lady. Or at least, Allie thought she was. Jazmine, on the other hand, had ideas of her own. She was younger than Allie, sexier than Allie, smarter than Allie. Why wouldn't a Son want her? Why would they ever go to used up Allie Schiller when they could have bombshell Jazmine Riley? Blonde waves worthy of a Hollywood red carpet, fake tits done so well that they looked real, glow so golden and so subtle that it couldn't be attributed to a tanning bed. Ba-bam. That was the noise when Jazmine walked into the clubhouse, all heads snapping in her direction. Ba-bam. She played it over and over again in her mind, using that sound to motivate herself whenever shit got hard. Like it had been for the past couple months.

Jazmine knew all the eligible men in SAMCRO. Hell, they pretty much all were, except for Clay, Jax, and Opie. Aside from Jax, who was almost too pretty to be a biker, Jazmine didn't really mind losing them too much, for her eyes were set on a certain tall, dark and dangerous Sergeant-at-Arms. Venomous Tig, whose bed she'd been tossed out of a fair amount of times, was where she'd set her sights. Powerful, strong, utterly unpredictable… He made Jazmine's blood boil in a good way.

She knew what he liked when he fucked. Always from behind, vicious, mean, Tig didn't care about making his sexual partner feel good. That was her own responsibility. And God bless the girl that turned her head back to look at him, for her face would be shoved callously forward, the action accompanied with a growl of _don't fucking look at me, you stupid bitch_. Jazmine had purposely done it enough times to know the cadence of those words, the feeling of his palm against her cheek. She kind of liked to get pushed around in bed. No matter how many times Tig reprimanded her, told her to shut up and fuck him, told her that if she couldn't do as he asked then he didn't have any need for her, Jazmine always got invited back. Which she interpreted as affection. Tig might not declare it any time soon, but he had a soft spot for Jazmine. She could feel it in those moments when she laid upon his chest when he was finished, right before he'd shove her out onto the cold floor.

It'd been a fair amount of time since Jazmine had been selected for a night of fun with Tig, and she knew that it had everything to do with that bitch Mattie being back in town. Tig still fucked, just as frequently as before, but it was always brunettes with curls or waves, a redhead in a pinch. No blondes. No Jazmine. Which was unacceptable. She was not going to let some new cunt get in the way of what was hers. Of who was hers.

Especially when the girl did not fit in whatsoever with the outlaws of SAMCRO. Jazmine didn't care if Mattie was a Son's daughter or niece- or whatever the fuck important familial link she had to the club- she was simply too conservative, too quiet to hang around with the MC. But Allie said that wasn't true, she was one of the Princesses to Gemma's Queen, like Tara and Luann. Ha. The bitch might think she was royal, though in Jazmine's opinion, she was anything but.

It wasn't even like Mattie was anything special to look at. Thick curls, hazel eyes, lily-white complexion. How could Tig be attracted to _that_? The only time Jazmine had seen the bitch show some skin was at Piney's party, when Tig stuck his tongue down her throat and dashed about half of Jazmine's dreams of Old Lady-hood. Didn't matter, though. She wasn't a woman easily swayed, not by Allie's pleas to play nice, not by the way that Tig doted on the Princess.

Like how he rode for a million hours in the dark to pluck Mattie from San Diego. Talk about a knight in shining armor. Or leather, as the case may be. Jazmine didn't know why he picked that moment to rescue the Princess, or what sort of danger she was in, because Allie told Jazmine to mind her own goddamn business and go suck some cock. Fuck her. When Jazmine became an Old Lady, Allie would be eating her shit. Guaranteed.

Jazmine wasn't a genius or anything, but it was pretty apparent that the Princess and Tig had not been getting along recently. Or at least before she went away to San Diego. Jazmine had hoped, in vain of course, that Mattie might not return from her little trip, but damn, hadn't she been proven wrong. Just like that, some more of Jazmine's dreams were dashed. Didn't matter. Jazmine Riley was not a girl to be trifled with.

So, yeah, Jazmine really despised Mattie, even as she laughed with the Prospect and Chibs by the boxing ring. Everything the Princess did annoyed her. The way she elbowed Chibs when he said something teasing. The way her hot pink sports bra exactly matched the piping on her running shorts. How she didn't care that she was a sweaty mess amongst all the men.

As Mattie walked by Jazmine- she'd been set up on one of the picnic benches underneath the overhang, idly listening to a couple other girls gossip while covertly supervising her enemy- the Princess didn't even glance over, just kept heading towards the clubhouse. Stupid bitch. Go ahead, play dumb, Jazmine didn't care. Whether the Princess knew it or not, Jazmine was going to win this little war. The prize was Mattie's fine-ass man, the OL title, and a shitload of respect for taking down a girl that didn't belong anywhere near the Sons. Gemma'd be eternally grateful, Jazmine thought, turning to see the Queen talking to Clay near the office. That's what Jazmine wanted. Gemma wouldn't be Queen forever. And when Jazmine became one of the Princesses- as Allie called them- the top prize would be much easier to obtain. Because that was Jazmine, always plotting her way to power. First, Tig, then Queen. SAMCRO would be putty in her very capable hands.

All she needed to do to was get rid of Little Miss Prim-n-Proper. Shove what she had with Tig into Mattie's face. And what better place to do it than Friday night's bash?

Jazmine was looking forward to the audience.

* * *

><p>Tig glanced over to his girl, standing by Luann, nodding along with whatever the blonde had to say. Half-listening, judging by the easy way that Mattie caught his gaze and smiled. A real smile, not one of the melancholy ones she'd been offering since Donna's death. Genuine happiness.<p>

_I decided that I belong in Charming. And if I belong in Charming, that means that I belong with you. _

It was what she said just before getting in her Mercedes for the ride back home, leaning against the car in such a nonchalant way that Tig almost missed the seriousness of her words. They weren't complete forgiveness, he wasn't dumb enough to believe that, but it was a start. For Mattie, who would hold a grudge if given the chance- and he'd done much, much than just give her a chance- her little speech was a big step towards normalcy between them. Whatever happened at George's wedding had softened Mattie towards Tig, made those hazel eyes just a bit less sharp when she looked at him, loosened the thick edge to her voice when she spoke.

In San Diego, after the reception, Mattie had gone upstairs to start packing, so Tigger decided to make a couple calls from the lobby. Talk to Clay, let him know what the hold up was, see if Jax got in touch with Bobby. A quick text to Juice, asking if he was able to figure anything else out about the email and who sent it. Truth was, Tig was fucking worried. Wouldn't say such a thing out loud, but that nagging feeling in his gut hadn't gone away since seeing those pictures. Not even finding Mattie safe and sound in the hotel room eased the tension. Getting back to Charming as quickly as possible could be a solution, even if Tig wasn't looking forward to the ride.

Then Reese, that stupid fucking bitch, approached him. Mattie had said something in passing about her mother being present for the festivities, but he figured that Reese wasn't deluded enough to actually speak to either him or her daughter. JT had made it very clear a very long time ago that Reese Cardinal was not allowed near the Sons of Anarchy or Mattie, no matter her intentions. She made her bed and had to lay in it.

"I have a single question for you." Reese said, eyes narrowed. They had the same slightly wide setting as Mattie's, but were a dim shade of blue-grey.

"Shoot." He resisted the urge to add the word bitch to end of his statement.

"Would you have still slept with her if I was around?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Tig snarled.

He was already in a protective state of mind, and Reese wasn't helping matters. She abandoned Mattie when she was seven. When she was a little girl. The bitch- no, the cunt- did not get to ask whether it would've made a difference if she'd been present in her daughter's life. Because, honestly? Reese was so self-obsessed that it probably wouldn't have mattered much. Eventually Book would have come to his senses and kicked her out the door, but been able to keep George. The club might have eventually had another member, a valuable one, judging from George's gigantic frame, but that's about it. Gemma would've still raised Mattie, Reese or not. Mattie was still her father's daughter. Mattie was still Tig's. Reese, stupid fucking Reese, didn't matter. In the SAMCRO equation, she was a negligible factor.

"If I had kept Matilda safe from the club, do you still think she'd have blood on her hands?"

Rage flowed through Tig so quickly that he was barely able to keep himself contained. It wouldn't do to assault a woman in the lobby of the Sheraton just because she was self-important. Seriously though, didn't she realize that it was _her_ fault that Mattie needed to take care of Hirsch? Reese had caused bodily harm to her own child because she had not been able to resist fucking the one psychopath with a hatred for Jews- her own goddamn people. The club had never put Mattie in harm's way; it'd kept her safe for twenty-eight years. She would always be protected by SAMCRO. Tig or not, Mattie was still a daughter, a niece, a surrogate sister. She would always have a place. She would always have a family, and she would never, ever need her mother. Her biological mother, in any case.

And would having Reese around kept Tig away from Mattie? No. Simply put, no. If Book and Bobby- hell, even the little Prince- didn't frighten him off, what would that stupid bitch have done? Or maybe she meant to ask if he would've been interested in mother rather than daughter. Knowing Reese, it was completely possible. Again, fuck that. Seventeen-year-old Matt or thirty-six year old Reese? Easy decision, considering that Reese was _insufferable_. Matt was sweet, smart, funny, and most of all, could focus on somebody besides herself. Plus, she was a shitload prettier. Reese might be stick thin and tan, but Mattie had effortless curves and those wild curls. Plus, those adoring hazel eyes. Well, maybe not as adoring lately, but they were definitely more striking than Reese's limp grey pair. And Mattie didn't need to depend on a man. If she wanted to, she could've left Patrick at any time, lived on her own in the big city. Tig was sure of it. Resourceful. That was the word he was looking for. Reese had no discernable talents or education.

All in all, Tig would never have fallen for Reese. The two of them never would've gotten inexplicably tangled up in one another, wound together despite differences in age and personalities. Mattie was not Reese. Even if Reese had attempted to raise her, Mattie would still not be Reese. There were too many people trying too hard to keep the apple from as far from the tree as humanly possible.

"You walk around like a pillar of morality, Reese, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you are insignificant. In this great big world, you don't matter. Not to Mattie, not to me, and certainly not to the club. Even if you stuck around, thinking you were doing us a favor, you would've hurt her sooner or later. She would still hate you." Tig paused, watching darkness descend upon Reese's face. "And you still wouldn't be her mother. Mattie is Gemma's daughter, and good thing, too. She's strong and she's intelligent, and she knows how to fight for what's hers. Mattie knows how to heal herself and how to hide herself, and none of it is because of you. She can handle the life. She can handle anything. We did that, the club did that. Not you. You are absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. So do me a favor, and never go near Mattie again. Unless she contacts you, you leave her alone. She is not your daughter. She is nothing to you. Understand me?"

Reese just met his eyes and nodded. It was all true, and probably things that the bitch knew but never wanted to admit to herself. She'd made decisions a long time ago that changed more than just her own life. That hurt one innocent girl and one man that didn't truly deserve it. That tore two siblings apart. It really was fine, though. Book, helped by Gemma and Bobby, raised Mattie to be much more than her mother ever was. In personality and in accomplishments. Tig was proud of his girl.

When he told Mattie about the little showdown in the lobby, she just slumped her shoulders and shook her head. Mentioned having her own argument with her mother during the wedding, but not much more. Tig didn't press. He could still feel all the tender parts she hadn't quite been able to hide from the world. Donna's death had done a number on her, destroyed that armor, destroyed Mattie's ability to shield herself. And when she wasn't able to hide those wounded pieces, she looked tired, miserable. It was Tig's fault. He knew it. His mistakes broke her.

Sometimes, he wondered if she would ever be the same. With him, at least. Tonight was the first time he'd seen Mattie piece just a little bit of her happiness back together. That smile… Maybe she realized how shitty he still felt.

Guilt was an unknown, ruthless emotion. Tig hardly ever felt it when it came to his own actions, he did something and that was it, he didn't think about what he'd done afterwards. Keeping the club safe was his duty, and he took pride in his responsibilities. Killing Donna had decidedly been the opposite. Harming the club, in fact. Only a handful of people knew what he did, and they all looked at Tig as though he were a monster.

He wasn't though. He was a man with a gun in his hand that'd made a fatal mistake. Shit, it wasn't even his call to go after Opie. But a rat had to be dealt with.

Damn. Tig usually went straight to the Jack when his thoughts began to straggle down that particular road, and he didn't even really like Jack Daniels. It was Mattie's drink. If he couldn't lean on her, he leaned on that particular brand of whiskey. If he were a man that paid attention to psychological bullshit, he might formulate a theory about why that was. He wasn't though, and just asked Half-Sack to refresh his beer. Didn't need his girl to start asking questions about his drink of choice.

Mattie was still chatting with Luann when Gemma stopped by Tig's side, patting his shoulder in that comforting way of hers. The Queen and the Princess- that was what Jax called Mattie to make her angry, a title that she wanted nothing of- were spending plenty of time together lately, since Gemma decided that she needed a new office manager and that Matt should be the one to fill that position. After all, Gemma explained, Moby was at school full time now, and instead of pissing away her law degree at home, Matt should come to TM and piss it away there. It was also a way of keeping Mattie as close to club surveillance as possible, not that Gem would admit to such a tactic. But she was worried about those pictures just as much as Tig.

"Hey, sweetheart." Gemma greeted. "Mattie's looking good tonight. What do you think?"

She was. A simple burgundy tank dress, the jersey fabric flowing but short, fastened with a black leather belt around her middle, emphasizing the narrow dip between those glorious tits and her hips. Finished with curls tossed across her shoulders and a pair of charcoal grey suede pumps, Mattie still looked like herself, just with an extra shot of sex appeal. Meaning that Tig was already thinking about how easy it'd been to pull her back to his dorm and peel that outfit off.

"Just needs a red sweatshirt and it'd be complete." Tig joked, knowing that Gemma would roll her eyes. She'd spent a good chunk of Matt's teenage years figuring out a way to take that beloved sweatshirt away. Considering that it was currently hanging in Mattie's closet, the attempts obviously did not go very well.

"I hope she doesn't take your fashion advice too seriously, Tiggy."

"Me too." He agreed, before pausing for a second. "She's excited for Bobby to come home. I think it'll be good for her."

"After what we've all been through for the past couple months, it'll be good for everyone." Gemma knocked her elbow against Tig's, trying to get his full attention. "Things are gonna get better, baby. You're gonna put the stars back in her eyes, I know you will. Dashing all the way to San Diego, well, trust me, that shit didn't go unnoticed. She knows what that meant. And Mattie knows that you're the only one. She's known it for a long fucking time, and she didn't just forget because of all the shit that went down."

Tig just nodded. He wasn't one to talk out his feelings, and Gemma realized that. She was just offering a little bit of advice, of reassurance, because she knew what Mattie meant to him. Going down to San Diego wasn't just because Mattie was his girl, his responsibility, Tig went because honestly, if something happened in a place where he wasn't able to protect her… the guilt of Donna's death wouldn't hold a candle to the sort of misery Mattie's would bring. Keeping her safe, keeping her close, it was like second fucking nature. And losing her for six long years put that instinct into overdrive, ramped up the compulsion to make sure that danger was far, far away from Mattie.

"And I know I don't need to say it, but thank you, Tig, for bringing her back home. Safe. I wasn't exactly… receptive to Matt being back in Charming, but it's been nice having my kid around. Plus, she's a fucking blessing in the office. Knows how to file like a goddamn pro."

He laughed. Switching between the emotional and the rational was a talent that Mattie had somehow inherited from Gemma. Like MC mother, like MC daughter.

Tig was right. Reese hanging around for more than seven years of Mattie's life wouldn't have made a goddamn difference. Her family was SAMCRO. It'd always been that way, so he couldn't lose Mattie, not really. Their connection was much deeper than words could explain; their foundation solid, no matter how much shit got piled atop it.

His sudden good mood accounted for the inexplicable reason he'd agreed to join Mattie in a game of poker with some of the guys from Fresno while they all waited for Bobby's arrival. Because, in a normal state of mind, he'd have been concerned about the amount of money he was about to lose.

A card shark was still a card shark, even if she was wearing a red dress and heels.

* * *

><p>Up a decent chunk of change and just about two steps past tipsy and into drunk, Mattie excused herself from the poker game, earning both cheers and groans from the men circled around the table. All of them were guys she'd known growing up- with them, her name was no longer Mattie but Book's kid, and in a pinch, Bobby's kid- so no, she didn't feel the least bit guilty. When Fresno Frank- not to be confused with Jolliette Frank, although he was usually referred to as Jo Frank- teasingly asked if Book's kid wanted to be part of the game, she was sure that he remembered her gift for Texas Hold'em, since Bobby used to brag about her strange little talent all the time. <em>Oh, you think seeing this child hang on the ropes of the ring is weird, why don'tcha play a hand of poker with her? Surely a fully patched Son can take a little girl?<em> Though, generally, she'd be the one taking that member's money.

Mattie might not look like she belonged around the Sons of Anarchy's bashes- she couldn't hold her liquor, didn't dress like she was going to work the pole and didn't have a crow- but shit, she could gamble. Between Bobby and Grandpa Munson, it was a one of those useless skills that'd been taught to her at a very young age. Needless to say, Mattie's babysitters weren't always the most conventional, but they definitely made an impression.

Tig had left the table a long time ago, although he didn't seem too upset at the amount of cash he'd lost. Just held up his hands in defeat, and went off with an odd smile on his lips. Things between the two of them had certainly been less strained than usual, but that didn't mean normalcy had been reinstated. Mattie was completely expecting to head home alone while Tig spent some private time with a croweater or two. After all, it really was a big party, tons of charters in town for Bobby's return. A great big SAMCRO reunion in her uncle's honor, with plenty of scantily clad women clustered in packs both inside and outside the clubhouse. Gemma also had a horde doing her bidding, refilling drinks and giving out blowjobs, changing out plates of food and shedding their clothes to straddle one of the poles propped in the middle of the room.

One of who, a girl with an inch of roots showing through her platinum blonde dye job, wouldn't stop staring at Mattie. All while she talked with Luann, during her time at the poker table, and now, as Matt scanned the room for Tig. She could feel those eyes trailing her every fucking move. Tucking herself into Tigger's side at the bar, cushioned by his status as Sergeant-at-Arms, that strange feathery pressure of the sweetbutt's stare lessened, but was still too goddamn apparent.

Tig shot Mattie a look, his too-blue gaze narrowed in a puzzled way. "Somebody step on your grave?"

"No…" She lowered her voice. "Turn to your left. Slower. Don't make it look like you're turning. Stop. The blonde leaning between the blue plaid couch and the broken floor lamp. She still looking this way?"

He subtly tilted his head to observe her, angling himself so that it looked like he was talking to Fresno Frank, who was taking a break from his card game. "Yeah. Seems pissed. Dunno why. Plenty of dick to go around. Maybe she's in Gemma's rag-tag gang of bitches on clean-up duty."

"She's been staring at me all damn night. Freaking me the fuck out."

"Want me to talk to her?" Tig asked, a strange set to his jaw. He curled an arm around Mattie's shoulders, negotiating her out of the blonde's line of sight.

"No. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy."

"Sorry to break it to ya, dollface, but you were already crazy. This just ain't the reason why." He replied with a smirk, trying to be cute.

"Thanks for the reassurance."

This was the most natural interaction they'd had in a very long time, and she was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. Tig always knew how to make Mattie smile, how to coax a laugh when she was feeling uncomfortable. He didn't use the sweeter aspects of his personality very often, but she'd somehow convinced herself long ago that the rarity of the moments was what made them special.

"Wanna get some air?" Tig's voice nudged Mattie from her thoughts. "Juice said he had a joint with our names on it, and I say we find him outside and collect."

"Sure thing, babe. First, lemme stash my bag in your dorm. You mind?" She held up the little black clutch filled to the brim with her phone and other necessities.

"If that's your funny way of suggesting that you stay the night, not at fucking all." He gently smacked her ass before taking a few steps through the congested crowd of bikers. "Meet you by the retarded Rican in a few."

Mattie couldn't help rolling her eyes, although Tig did not get to see the quick flick as she fought her way back to the dorms, ducking around cuts and stepping over boots. By the time she tossed her purse into one of Tig's dresser drawers, the previously parted sea of leather clumped back into a solid mass, so Matt took the back door, willing to take the longer route. Sure, it was dark and a little precarious in heels, but far simpler than elbowing her way past all those charters shooting the shit.

Once Mattie maneuvered over broken bottles and condom wrappers, it was easy to spot the cluster of SAMCRO at one of the picnic tables. Chibs and Juice sitting on one side, Tig and Jax on the other. Happy, who'd strayed from his Nomad pals, was leaning over the worn wood, swigging a beer and nodding along to the conversation. In a way, the tattooed killer reminded Mattie of her father. Calm and alert, perpetually ready to do whatever the club asked of him, no questions asked. Book did not come across quite so intimidating, although Matt thought that might've had something to do with his role as her father. Who knew how other people viewed him?

"You were quick." Tig remarked, before casting a dark glance in Juice's direction. "Turns out the little asshole is so drunk he can't remember where he put the weed."

"I do! I mean… Shit. I thought it was in my pocket. Guess I'll have to look for it tomorrow."

"Numb nuts, you're so shitfaced you won't remember this conversation even happened." Jax cut in, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder why we think you're responsible enough to carry a gun."

"I am repens- reponsib- aspons- Fuck!"

The whole table, even Happy, erupted in laughter as Juice grew more and more tongue-tied. Mattie was glad she'd stayed at the party as long as she did- well, Stahl taking her sweet goddamn time in dropping off Bobby played a large part in that decision. Mattie was usually uncomfortable around large groups of people, but then again, there weren't just people. These were Sons of Anarchy. And Mattie wasn't an outsider anymore. Sure, she'd finally outgrown that SAMCRO baby title and wasn't quite an Old Lady, but she'd found a role in the MC that strangely suited her. Part-girlfriend to the SAA, part surrogate sister to the VP, part Queen's adopted daughter, along with plenty of other relationships her drunken mind couldn't even process at the moment.

Mattie belonged in Charming. That was what took her an excruciatingly long time to figure out. But once the concept took root in her brain… shit, there was no shaking it. And like she said to Tig, if she belonged in Charming, she belonged with him. Reese had cemented that particular part of the epiphany for her. Mattie was not going to be one of those women that ran the moment MC life got tough. She wasn't going to abandon her family again- biological and extended. It was what Book would've wanted. He raised her to be loyal, and damn it, that's what she was going to be.

The men were all still ragging on Juice, whose face was red all the way up to his tattoos. Now, for as much Mattie got along with him, she could never for the life of her understand why he'd decided to put those two bolts on his head. And that was coming from somebody who'd gotten a tattoo at eighteen and then hadn't been able to stop, ten years later. The SAMCRO on her wrist was a gift from Tig, but the others… well, they had been her own additions. Happy directed her to an artist halfway between Berkeley and Charming, and that had been it. Which wasn't to say that Mattie didn't get a fair amount of ink in New York. Probably because it pissed off Patrick so much. Straight-laced did not even begin to describe that man.

"I'm going to grab another drink. Ya'll want anything?" Mattie asked, picking up her empty beer from its spot on the end of the table while the men shot the shit.

"Just have the Prospect give you a bottle of whiskey. We'll split it-" Chibs stopped to count the bodies around the table, before shaking his head. "We'll all just split it."

"For the love of fucking god, don't let him give you the cheap shit. When he looks at you with those puppy dog eyes, remain strong, baby girl." Jax called after her.

Mattie waded through the outdoor crowd simply enough, and managed to find an easy trail to the bar. Half-Sack looked absolutely exhausted, his blue eyes bloodshot and hooded, blonde hair more tousled than usual, as though he'd been continuously running a nervous hand through it. He gave the up the goods pretty easily- probably glad for the short break from all the barking insults- and Mattie was back out the door with the alcohol and a cluster of red plastic cups in no time.

That is, until somebody crossed her path and didn't bother to move, even when Mattie offered a particularly polite excuse me. For a second, she thought it was a member of another charter mistaking her as the entertainment, but upon closer, less patient inspection… A misguided biker might've been the better option, because at least she would've known his intentions.

It was that blonde croweater tossing her fried locks over her shoulder, smiling in a hideously forced way. Shame, too. The girl probably would've been pretty if it wasn't for all the hey-look-at-me! makeup and clothing. Or maybe if her skin was a subtler shade of orange.

"Can I help you with something?" Mattie asked, raising an eyebrow. She kept her tone neat, not allowing her irritation or confusion to filter through.

"I think you can, actually." The blonde took a wider stance and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why don't you just do us all a favor and go home?"

Whoa. Somebody was definitely overstepping her boundaries. "Listen, we don't know each other, and that's the only reason why I'm going to step around you and pretend that this never happened. Free pass tonight, sweetheart. Be a bitch tomorrow, and well, no guarantees."

It wasn't exactly a Gemma-style get-the-fuck-outta-my-face, but Mattie thought it would work. Fights weren't really her thing- since her 'retirement' at fourteen, she just enjoyed them from outside the ring- and especially not when her opponent was a used up croweater. The blonde was probably drunk out of her mind and forgot her place. Which wasn't to say that Mattie didn't know hers. An Old Lady she might not be, but SAMCRO was in her blood, an honor in its own right.

"Who do you think you are?"

"I can ask you the same goddamn thing." Mattie retorted. "But I think I already know the answer to that question."

"I'm the bitch that's been fucking your man. I'm the bitch that took your place, Princess." The blonde leaned forward, no doubt thinking that the movement was threatening, "Tig is mine, so you can just go home, Princess. You don't belong here."

Mattie didn't know how the words found their way into her mouth so effortlessly, but they did. "Tig can fuck whoever he wants, including you. But it's me that he comes home to every night, so your little declaration might be a bit misguided."

"Why would he ever want you," The blonde cast a disparaging look up and down Mattie's body, "when he could have a woman like me?"

"Maybe because my first choice of career wasn't sweetbutt? Maybe because my tits aren't full of silicone? Maybe because I don't have to pick a fight in order to frighten women away from him? Any of this making an impact?" She sighed. "Frankly, I'm tired of playing this pathetic little game with you, so get the fuck out of my way."

"Not until you admit that Tig is mine." She insisted, taking another step closer.

Another female voice approached them, and Mattie hoped it wasn't going to turn into two against one. "Jazmine! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Allie. One of Gemma's favorite girls, always 'invited' to help out with club functions because she was dependable and discreet. She'd been hanging around the Sons a long time, and knew how things worked. Which, quite obviously, the blonde didn't. Jazmine. Mattie wondered if that was actually her real name.

"Not now, Allie. I don't need a lecture." Jazmine nodded towards Mattie. "I'm taking care of my shit."

"No, you're making problems! Not just for yourself, but for everyone else! You're so damn selfish, Jazmine." Allie shook her head, scattering her bright red hair. It came from a bottle but still looked good on her. "This is going too far, and you know it."

Allie walked away, looking beyond pissed. Mattie didn't blame her.

Seriously though, the whole situation was completely ludicrous. Mattie was at the clubhouse to have a good time, not get into a showdown with an ambitious bitch. There was absolutely nothing about the blonde that frightened Mattie, not her tone, her demeanor, her forceful orders for Mattie to keep away from Tig. Since, honestly, Jazmine didn't know who she was talking to. Not because of who Mattie was in relation to the club, not because Tig would leap to her rescue. Which he would if she really needed it, but she didn't. It was because of Book Cardinal, who'd taught his daughter much more than how to box. _I know what kind of evil is out there, Matt; _he'd used to say. _You need to know what to do in case you encounter some of that evil_. Suffice it say, Mattie knew how to defend herself, whether it was a just a barehanded fistfight or strategic shoot out- Book had been abnormally thorough when teaching his daughter how to use a gun.

She might not be the most intimidating girl, but Mattie knew how to get things done, if pushed hard enough. Jazmine didn't know about Hirsch, didn't know about Book, but maybe if she did, the bitch wouldn't have gotten in Mattie's face.

"You want me to say that Tig is yours?" Mattie scoffed. "If you think that any of these men, that any Son truly _belongs_ to a woman, you're crazy. We belong to them. If you really want to my place, you've got a lot to learn, sweetheart."

Jazmine's face fell just a little bit. "That doesn't matter. He doesn't love you. He doesn't want you. You're nothing. You're insignificant."

"And how exactly do you know that? Have a lot of long, heartfelt conversations while he's got his dick in you?"

"He's mine! Tig is mine! You're a stupid fucking cunt that thinks far too much of herself, and he's going to see that sooner or later." She screeched, voice growing louder with every exclamation, "I belong with him! I deserve to have him and the respect that comes along with being his Old Lady! Not you."

"You're fucking delusional, bitch." Mattie declared, utterly frustrated. She turned on her heel, thinking that if she couldn't get around Jazmine, she'd head back inside the clubhouse and take the long route again. It was what she should've done from the start.

But a hand reached out and pulled the back of her hair. Oh, fuck that. _Fuck that_. If there was something that Mattie despised more than a woman made crazy by desperation, it was one that fought with hair pulls and slaps. It was cheap. And frankly, insulting.

Mattie had a split second to hand off the whiskey bottle to a Son who'd been passively watching the exchange between the two women before Jazmine ripped at her shoulder, whirling Mattie around. That was fine. Mattie was not going to walk away, not anymore. There was a difference between a verbal taunt and a physical one, and that sheer distinction was what made her dart forward, dexterously dodging Jazmine's next attack.

Even in seething rage, Mattie remembered to tuck her left hand behind her back. Breaking it on Jazmine's face might be satisfying now, but in the long run, it probably wasn't the best decision.

Firing off a decent shot with her right fist, catching the blonde idiot in the ribs, Mattie was sure that the crowd surrounding them had grown. Sure, there were plenty of altercations between drunken Sons, but a catfight? That was a rarity. And a catfight between a croweater and… whatever Mattie was? Definitely a first.

Jazmine tried to strike again, reaching for Mattie's dress- another terribly annoying girl fight tactic, ripping at clothes- but Matt easily swatted her away, turning the action into a quick shuffle of shots that danced across the blonde's abdomen. Jazmine would be bruised tomorrow, but if she played her cards right and threw in the towel soon, that'd be the worst of her injuries.

"You don't know who you're messing with! You don't know who I am! You don't know what I could do to you!" Jazmine shrieked.

Mattie wanted to laugh at her pathetic attempts. She really did. Instead, exhausted with the blonde's attempts at dominance, Mattie's left hand snaked out from its hiding spot. One blow. That's all she needed to shut up the irrational woman playing at tough bitch. One blow that could destroy whatever surgery Mattie'd gotten fourteen years ago, the surgery that ensured that she could play the piano. Surely, pride was not worth as much as broken bones and torn tendons.

Plus, as Mattie contemplated between fists, no matter what, she'd leave the scuffle with the same amount of respect she had when she entered. Nothing was going to change her status with Tig, or with the rest of SAMCRO. She'd been born into the club. She'd been in love with Tigger since she was seventeen. A croweater's interference wasn't going to make a difference.

So, as a right hook caught Jazmine square in the cheek, Tig came scrambling towards the scene. Mattie could see him from the corner of her left eye, knowing that he'd probably be pissed. But there was an odd sparkle in his gaze, which combined with the look of satisfaction on his face that made her think that, for once, she'd done something right.

"Couldn't wait 'til I was watching?" He asked, as a couple prospects from other charters scraped Jazmine from the asphalt. Book would've been proud, Mattie idly thought, even though her right hand was throbbing. Knuckles against cheekbone wasn't the greatest combination for either party.

"Sorry. Bitch had it coming."

"Don't doubt it." Tig nodded towards the clubhouse. "Want some ice for that hand, Rocky?"

"Definitely." She replied, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and escorted her into the clubhouse.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whoa, what's this? An update that **didn't** take a month? Anyway, I can't say that this is last time we'll see Jazmine, I'm toying with the idea of having her appear in a later chapter. And yeah, I know I spelled her name super obnoxiously, it was a typo at first and then I decided to stick with it. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to stick with present time- I always want to say present tense even though I know it's wrong- for the next couple chapters. Okay, that's enough from me. Thanks for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	34. Chapter 34

_In an ocean of noise I first heard your voice_

_Now who here among us still believes in choice? Not I_

_No way of knowing what any man will do_

_An ocean of violence between me and you_

_You've got your reasons and me, I've got mine_

_But all the reasons I gave were just lies to buy myself some time_

_Ocean of Noise – Arcade Fire_

* * *

><p>"You brought me fucking flowers?"<p>

Yeah. That response was definitely why Mattie lingered in the gift shop for nearly twenty minutes before deciding upon an understated bouquet of white lilies.

"It was either these or a giant teddy bear holding a box of chocolates and a great big balloon telling you to get well. Your call." Mattie replied, tentatively stepping further into Gemma's room.

Hospitals were not one of her favorite places. Well, more specifically, St. Thomas was not Mattie's favorite place. Nearly every great tragedy of her twenty-eight years had ended there- Thomas, JT, her unborn baby and Book all passed within its walls- and the moment she walked inside, anxiety banded around her shoulders. Mattie wanted to run, wanted to run _really_ badly. But she wouldn't, because she was done with all that shit. Because even though Gemma would never admit it, she wanted her loved ones to be there for her, just like she was for all of them.

For the woman who raised her, Mattie would brave St. Thomas, even if the hospital made her nauseous. Even if she couldn't remember what happened the night before. After her fight, after Bobby came home, there was just a big empty space roaming around in her brain. Shit, Mattie didn't even know how the fuck she got home. Waking up in her own bed wearing the same dress she'd walked out the door in hours before… it was not a pleasant experience. Her head was throbbing, her right hand was so swollen she couldn't open a bottle of Advil, and to cap it all off, her phone was missing. Mattie was batting a fucking thousand.

And then Jax had called her rarely used prepaid, telling her to get her ass to the hospital.

So yeah, it'd been just about the _perfect_ day so far. Which was why Gemma's irritated reaction to Mattie's flowers didn't bother her in the least.

"Okay, smart ass." Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Maybe _you_ should see the good doctor about your hand, Sugar Ray Leonard."

"I'm fine." Mattie said, not fooled by Gem's attempt to steer the conversation away from herself. "Jax said that your Caddy was totaled."

"Don't give me that look, sweetheart. I'm going to be okay. Just… shaken up by the ordeal, I guess. Nothing that merits that little fidgety thing you do when you're nervous."

Mattie frowned. Her anxiety usually didn't manifest itself physically, but shit, between the hospital and the hangover, Gemma and the accident, there wasn't anything she could do to stop fumbling with her necklace. It was something Mattie almost always wore, a long silver chain with one of her father's favorite rings hanging off it, except usually it wasn't tangled up in her fingers.

Because as cool as Gemma was playing the situation, there was something seriously wrong. Mattie could feel the strange energy of the room. The secret, poignant gazes between Tara and Gemma. Gemma's injuries- Mattie had never seen airbags do damage like that before. And then there was something odd, almost timid about her. Something that Mattie had never experienced before, not in conjunction with the Queen, at least.

Gemma was regal. Powerful. The woman sitting on the hospital bed was not. She was defeated. Quiet. Almost… damaged.

Which Mattie would've liked to attribute to St. Thomas, the hospital stealing Gemma's strong nature, but at the same time, she couldn't. There was something serious, something deeper and darker going on, which Mattie was not privy to.

"I want Gemma on bed rest for a few days," Tara walked into the exam room, wielding a clipboard full of paperwork, "I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind taking control of the office at TM for a while, so that's one less thing that she has to worry about."

"Oh, please, talk about me like I'm not right here." Gemma clucked. "And no promises, Doc. I get restless pretty easy."

Mattie grinned. That was more like Gemma. "I'll be in the office bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Thanks." Tara replied. "I've got to get Gemma in for some more x-rays, so-"

"I'll get going." Mattie put her hand on top of Gem's. "I love you, okay?"

"You tryin' to make me cry, baby girl?" She teased. "Love you, too. Now get outta here."

Mattie walked back into the waiting room, which was empty besides Neeta and Abel. The Sons were out conducting business- the was the 'official' line she'd gotten from Jax- probably at Gemma's behest. Though Mattie couldn't deny that she really would've liked it if Tig was around. They'd missed each other, or so said Clay when Mattie first arrived at St. Thomas. That's what happened when she got so drunk that she woke at about half past one- not that she spouted that out to Clay while passing him in the hallway.

The President had also left shortly after seeing his wife, so the silence in the small space was completely overwhelming. Mattie had planned on sticking around for a bit, in case the guys came back, but shit, she couldn't deal with the hospital much longer.

After running her hand over Abel's soft blonde hair and murmuring a quick goodbye to Neeta, Mattie headed towards the elevator. What she wouldn't do to see a pack of leather clad bikers making their way down the hall…

Instead, she just rode downstairs, taking the long way out the parking lot, since she'd been forced to take a spot about a thousand miles away from the adult examination rooms anyway. St. Thomas was such a small hospital that it was usually filled to the brim on the weekend, when visiting hours were extended until ten PM instead of the usual eight o'clock.

The fact that she knew such a thing was definitely a sign she'd spent way too much time there.

Mattie approached her Mercedes, fiddling around in her purse for her keys. Tig had suggested that she trade the car in for something not as- what was his exact wording?- asshole-y. She had to admit that the automobile looked severely out of place parked outside TM. But his other proposal, that Mattie use his pickup instead, well, that wasn't exactly her favorite idea. Not because she didn't like his Ford, just that it was a little soon to be sharing cars, especially after the massive shake-up their relationship was barely out of. She didn't share that particular view with him, however.

Picking a fight with Tigger was like playing a carnival game. It was nearly impossible to win.

"Excuse me, miss?" A voice called out, and Mattie turned. "I think you dropped this."

A man held out a familiar silver chain and ring, and Mattie instinctively patted her throat. Sure enough, her necklace _was_ missing, and the stranger had been nice enough to track it back to her. Must've seen her drop it, since the massive reaper ring wasn't something normally associated with a woman.

"Jesus, thank you." She sighed into the warm late summer air. "You don't know how broken up I'd have been if I'd lost it."

"No problem, ma'am. Just doing my good deed for the day."

Relieved, Mattie looked up to take a better look at her savior, refastening the chin around her neck as she did so. And what- who- she saw, well, it didn't exactly still the nerves that'd been set free the moment she'd stepped inside St. Thomas.

It was the man from the beach in San Diego, the one she literally ran into. The one with the camera that'd been knocked into the sand. There was no way seeing him in Charming was a coincidence, not at all. This time, all the tattoos that'd been mostly hidden by his buttoned-up shirt were revealed, an upside peace sign by the base of his throat, symbols of white power up and down his arms. None of which had been displayed in San Diego.

T_his is an issue of black and white_. Hadn't that been part of the message attached to those emailed pictures? Why hadn't she put two and two together before? Whoever this asshole was- not a Nord, the whole email thing was far too clever to be attributed to Darby and his boys- he had to be associated with those photos. He had a fucking camera in his hands when they ran into each other in San Diego, for Christ's sake. Why didn't she think of him the moment that Tig showed her all those candid shots? Why wasn't she more worried back then?

Ten fucking years later, and another Nazi prick was way too close for comfort. Mattie's heart beat out of control, so goddamn hard that she could feel it in the palms of her clenched fists. But her thoughts were organized as she met the man's dark eyes, even as she registered the smirk on his lips.

"I think we know each other." He said, his voice too confident. "I didn't realize that you lived in Charming, Miss Cardinal."

Motherfucker. She needed to get the hell away from St. Thomas, but didn't trust herself behind the wheel. What if he followed her home? With SAMCRO away, what chance did she really stand? Mattie had no gun- she did, but what were the chances he'd let her run down to the basement and get it out of the safe- and no security system. Shit, Willow was more interested in napping and drooling than actually trying to be a guard dog.

"I think you did." Mattie replied, not betraying the tremendous fear gathering in her chest. "Can I have a clue as to your identity? Since you're so well-versed in mine."

"A.J. Weston at your service, ma'am." His smirk deepened into a smile. "I must say, you women are very, very steadfast. I almost didn't expect it."

Alarms clanged inside Mattie's head. Women. Not _woman_, singular, but _women. _Plural. Gemma… Weston couldn't have anything to do with the reason she was in an exam room upstairs. Right? Shit. Mattie didn't know anymore.

There were a lot of cards that Mattie could play. Did he know who her man was? Did he know how her father raised her? How Gemma raised her? Did he know that she'd already killed one white supremacist and was perfectly willing to try it again?

"I don't break when the people I love are threatened." Mattie leaned in a little further. "And I don't sure as shit don't break when I'm threatened."

"And who's threatening anybody, Miss Cardinal? My associates and I don't particularly like the men you're allied with, but you are perfectly safe." He waited a beat before adding, "For now."

There was a low rumble in the distance, coming closer. Shit, the Sons had never arrived at more opportune moment. Not since Tig picked her up from Pope all those years ago.

The Harleys sped through the entrance, heading towards the front of the hospital. Didn't really care about designated parking spots for visitors and the ones for doctors and nurses.

"I have to go, Mr. Weston," Mattie said, taking a few steps backwards. "But it has been an absolute pleasure making your acquaintance."

"Yes. I agree." He bowed, pretending to tip his hat. "Hope to see you around this beautiful town, Miss Cardinal."

Mattie didn't breathe until she was safely back inside St. Thomas' walls, following the same route to the waiting room up on the fourth floor. The Sons were already congregating in the small space, most of them plunked down in the uncomfortable seats, a few stretching. Tig wasn't amongst them- Mattie tried to tell herself that was okay, but it wasn't very convincing.

"You alright, baby?" Neeta asked when she walked back inside. "Thought you were on your way out?"

"Yeah… I was. Heard the guys, though." Mattie fumbled, couching her agitation by plucking a magazine from the cluster on the coffee table.

"Thought yours was with them?"

"Maybe." She replied, scanning the room. Jax had gone out- probably went to find Tara, since the door to Gemma's room was wide open instead of closed up tight, like it'd been before when the Queen was inside.

Chibs' brown eyes were the first to meet hers, narrowed and inquisitive. Concerned. Mattie would've went to sit by his side to talk about anything else but what'd happened outside, but bile steadily rose in her throat. To answer Neeta's question, no, Mattie wasn't fucking alright, though she still wasn't willing to declare it in such an apparent fashion.

Quickly as she entered the waiting room, Mattie stumbled frantically out of it- even if she tried to make her movements as smooth as humanly possible.

By the time she was bowed over a toilet that was probably less than clean, she hadn't heard the clatter of boots following her into the restroom. But she couldn't miss the hand that ran in soothing circles against her back as she heaved. Chibs' hand. Mattie didn't have to turn around to know that it was him.

For the first time that day, Mattie was glad she'd overslept. The shower she missed meant her curls were tied in a bun on the top of her head, that the meals she'd hadn't gotten to eat weren't making their way back up her esophagus.

Small miracles, she supposed.

She'd ask for larger ones, although she knew better.

* * *

><p>A.J. Weston carefully lifted his cell phone to his ear, smiling broadly. Zobelle picked up on the second ring.<p>

"I assume you have good news."

"The Cardinal girl is back in Charming like you thought she'd be. And she's almost as stubborn as the old bitch we took care of last night."

Matilda was different than Weston originally thought she'd be. He knew all about her history, how her father was a dead Son and her boyfriend was live one; she was some kind of shyster lawyer who fled from New York like her ass was on fire. Zobelle managed to find her divorce papers- probably paid somebody off- and a copy of her house deed, and well, one happened before the other.

Matilda was just another biker whore. A pretty one, maybe, but a whore nonetheless.

"At least we have all the women in one place. Makes things easier." Zobelle summed up, though his tone wasn't victorious.

"Want me to do anything else with her?"

"No. Leave the Sons alone for a minute. Either the matriarch or the girl will squeal. Just a matter of time."

"Should I stay at the hospital? Keep an eye out?"

"Yes. Don't spook anybody else. Surveillance, Mr. Weston, surveillance. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Weston hung up then, a little irritated with Zobelle and his orders. But at least two jobs were over and done with.

* * *

><p>Chibs had never seen Mattie like that. He'd never seen her look anything less than put together.<p>

Chibs wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be relieved or scared shitless.

By the time she scrambled to her feet and pushed past him to the sink, the tears on her cheeks were all too apparent. Chibs got the distinct idea that Mattie wasn't a girl that cried too often, but shit, he had no fucking clue what to do. Comforting a crying woman wasn't exactly his forte, much less one that he was very much attracted to.

"Mattie." He said simply, watching her methodically rinse out her mouth with tap water. "Mattie?"

She shook her head. _Don't, _the movement replied, as did quick flick of her hazel eyes. _Don't_.

"What happened?" Chibs pressed, saddling up to stand beside her. He thought that Mattie might flinch out of the closeness, but all he got was another glare as she spat out her mouthful of water.

"It's nothing." She bit out, putting up one hand, wordlessly asking him to back away so that she could free herself. He didn't move, however.

"No, it isn't."

"Maybe I'm still fucking drunk from last night." Mattie offered, twisting in the small space between Chibs and the paper towel dispenser. "Maybe that's all."

"Matilda." He tried her full name, which felt strangely clunky between his teeth. "Don't."

"I'm fine, Chibs, really."

"You absolutely are not. Don't lie to me. Neeta said you'd already gone, I heard her. Must've been a reason if you needed to come back in and I'm sure it wasn't just to vomit in the fourth floor bathroom." He pressed closer, boldly crossing the small space between them. Mattie's chest rose and fell too quickly, her hands shook. Not because of the imposition on her personal space, no, she was far too cool to ever betray that sort of feeling, but because of something else. Something that must've occurred between leaving the hospital and walking out to her car.

Mattie was a goddamn mess, a word that Chibs wasn't sure he'd ever attributed to her before. She was normally so fucking thoughtful about her own actions that sometimes he could almost see the machinations behind her eyes. Cautious, composed Mattie was gone. Here, in the dimly lit, light blue tiled bathroom, she was replaced with a frightened girl who was close to having a panic attack. She wasn't the beautiful, biker-raised non-practicing lawyer anymore. No, some of that was wrong. Even shaken up, Mattie was beautiful.

Damn it. He shouldn't be thinking about how her breasts looked underneath the low cut of her tank top, how the narrow of her waist was practically built for the palms of his hands. He shouldn't want to press her up against the bathroom stall and just…

Her voice was enough to distract him from the end of that thought.

"I- I…" Mattie cast a look beyond Chibs. "Come to my car with me?"

"Will you explain what the fuck is going on?"

"Yeah, sure, if that's what you want."

He expected her to be detached as they headed towards the parking lot, but those hazel eyes were alert, scanning their path, evaluating every stranger that walked by. Letting him lead just a little bit, lingering close enough that her hip grazed his every once in a while. Chibs liked the contact, wanted to stretch his arm protectively around her shoulders, though the shit show that'd occur if Tig made an unexpected entrance was not really worth it.

Because, honestly, Chibs had no fucking idea what was going on between Tigger and Mattie. They didn't speak for months, for practically the whole goddamn summer, and that was perfectly fine with Chibs. After Jax had accused Tig of putting his hands on Mattie… there were no words for the kind of rage the Scot experienced. The Sergeant-at-Arms had pretty, intelligent, SAMCRO-versed Mattie and he _hit_ her? No excuses for that. None. If Bobby had been around to hear what Tig allegedly did, well, there'd be a lot of blue-eyed brains decorating the walls of the clubhouse. The Secretary didn't react violently very often, but when he was provoked- and Mattie's abuse would've been a definite provocation- all he saw was red.

Jax's confrontation didn't make much an impact, though. Tig was a loose cannon, and very rarely held accountable for his own actions. Not by Clay, not by Mattie, and sure as hell not by anybody else. Half-Sack had been the only one to timidly bring up the subject while behind the bar one morning, fidgeting his way through his uncomfortable question.

"Do ya think Tig really did that? Ya think he really, ya know, hurt her?"

Chibs had shrugged in a defeated way. "If you have to ask, Prospect, I'm pretty sure you already know the fucking answer."

"But… I dunno." The kid chose his wording surprisingly carefully, "Tig's not the… nicest guy, but I think he actually… I dunno, loves her."

"I'm sure a lotta assholes love the women they beat." Chibs replied irritably. "It's none of our business anyway, kid."

It wasn't. Their relationship, in general, was none of Chibs' fucking business, but he just couldn't keep his nose out of it. Because for once, he'd thought that rift between Mattie and Tig was too deep to ever close. She left Charming for Christ's sake. And yeah, Matt might say it was for her brother's wedding, she might lie about a lot of things, but Chibs could see right through that particular untruth. Something had shattered the bond between the two of them, the one that'd been formed eleven years ago, the one that Chibs had thought was unfathomably unbreakable.

But then they had to get that fucking email, and Tig had to become Prince goddamn Charming. Happy could've easily gone to San Diego. Any one of them could've. It didn't _need_ to be Tigger. Clay agreed, though, and that had been the end of it. Three days after that long discussion, Mattie was back, and the Sons were no closer to figuring out who the hell had gone after her so directly.

Those photos… Chibs didn't know what to think at first. Shit, he was so goddamn distracted by all that rarely shown bare skin that he couldn't fathom the danger implied in the images. Pale curves hugged by a red and white bikini, hidden tattoos on open display, wet bathing suit clinging to firm tits, it was like a gift from… somebody. He probably stared at those pictures far longer than necessary, but damn, wasn't like any sane heterosexual man could blame him. Even Happy's eyes had an uncharacteristic sparkle in them as they roamed over the photos.

Mattie turned on her heel as they reached her Benz, twisting so suddenly that Chibs was instantly sure that his trip outside wasn't to get away from the hustle and bustle of St. Thomas. Whatever they were doing, it had an importance that he hadn't been able to see before. Impulse was not a word in Mattie's vocabulary- at least, not that Chibs had seen.

"Who are you looking for?" He asked carefully, as she scanned the parking lot again.

"I'm not sure."

"So you _are_ searching for somebody, then?" Chibs gently grabbed her chin, pulling her attention towards himself. She seemed to bristle slightly at the contact, eyebrows narrowing, lips pursing with unsaid complaints.

"I..." Mattie stopped for a second, then pointed to her car. "I wish that you could follow me home. But I know you guys are busy with club stuff and-"

She was scared. Holy shit, Mattie, the girl who'd kicked some bitch's ass not even twenty-four hours ago, the girl who was involved with a man who was half-asshole/half-psychopath, was scared. Hands shaking, shoulders pinned forward- anxiety filtered through her carefully constructed armor. Did she come to Chibs because out of all the Sons currently in St. Thomas, she was closest to him? Or was there a chord of trust that had been struck between the pair? Surely, it was the second- Jax, her surrogate sibling, had also been in the building, and yet, he wasn't out here with a nervous mess of a woman.

"You're shaking," Chibs said, not knowing whether Mattie would respond or not. "You're fucking shaking, Matt."

"I know." She sucked in a deep breath. "I can't help it."

"What happened? Who did this, love? Who?"

Chibs wanted to demand answers, but the wide, far-off look in Mattie's eyes warned him that pressing her too hard might be worse than letting her answer in her own time. But by the same token, he couldn't wait. Knowing that somebody had created the terror in the one of the strongest women in Chibs' life… something clenched tight in his chest. He needed to take care of her, not because she was Mattie, who'd he'd been subtly- or really, not so subtly- attracted towards since the moment she dropped her Benz at TM, but because she was Mattie, who'd been inside the umbrella of protection that SAMCRO offered since she was a very little girl. In a way, Chibs was responsible for her safety. All the Sons were. Just like he needed to keep an eye out for Tara, for Gemma, even Luann, Chibs was also Matt's protector.

That was how he justified their closeness. The arm looped around her back. Her head tilted on his shoulder. Their hips creating friction between denim and denim.

"He's part of the AB, I think. Had the tattoos." Mattie whispered. "He followed me to San Diego, Chibs. He followed me eight hours and I had no goddamn idea. My dad would be so fucking proud of how oblivious I am."

Chibs clenched a fist. Those photos, those threats, now there was a man, an organization to attach to the mystery. And this asshole made his way back to Mattie, had all but confronted her in the town in which she should feel most safe. What would Tig do when Mattie told him what happened? How would irrational, hair-trigger Tig Trager react to his girl being endangered in the parking lot of a hospital?

"Do you got a gun?" Chibs asked finally, not sure how to proceed. There were things he could say, things he could declare, but shit, none of them would make Matt feel any better. None of them would restore her confidence like the presence of a loaded gun.

"At home, inside a lockbox in the basement."

"Get it, and go to the club. Stay there, okay? For the love a'Christ, stay at TM until we're all done with what needs doing." He ordered, twining his stubby fingers with her longer, softer ones. Illicit, perhaps, but Chibs thought the little touch might ease her mood a bit.

"I… I'm just shaken, I guess. I don't fucking know." Mattie sighed, flicking her eyes to his. "I'll go to the club, but you should know… I can take care of myself."

"I don't have any doubt of that, love, but-"

She interrupted him, jaw tight, hands steadier, a determined sort of look crossing her face. "I'll be okay, Chibs. I'm just in a weird place right now, but when I mellow out, I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe. Did it before."

"What's that mean?"

"When I was seventeen, I… A man broke into my house and I killed him."

There weren't any words to counters hers, nothing that Chibs could say without feeling like an idiot, feeling like he didn't know the woman standing in front of him as well as he thought. Mattie, innocent, pretty Mattie, had shot a man before her eighteenth birthday? Had been in such drastic danger as such a young girl? For a moment, he understood her strange tie with Tig. At first, Chibs thought Mattie's natural appreciation for Tig's status as Sergeant-at-Arms had something to with growing up within the club, but now that he knew about her own little murder…

But seriously, how could you just not _know _that about somebody? How could you bond with somebody over the span of a few months and not know that they'd killed another person? In self-defense, just because, whatever, it didn't matter. The hands that'd been touching his only moment ago had taken somebody's life- not that his own were all that innocent.

Perhaps it wasn't the fact that Mattie had killed a man but rather she'd done it seemingly without feeling. No guilt, no fear, nothing that Chibs could see in her pale but resolute gaze. No emotional fallout. Not that he could outwardly observe at least, as her armor had reassembled itself since her little admission. Damn, he could see Gemma's motherly touch in Mattie, clear as day. Strength- even if it was denial hidden in strength- despite adversity.

_I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe_. No, Chibs was sure she wasn't, because her lips quivered in a barely conspicuous way when they formed the word _safe._ Danger always seemed to find Mattie, Jax had said once. He hadn't elaborated, but Chibs thought the VP was talking about her relationship with Tig. Now, though… Maybe there was a deeper meaning that he'd completely missed.

When it came to Mattie, hidden meanings were practically a given. Girl had been taught to lie like a pro, hold secrets tight and most of all, emotionally protect herself from the outside world.

And physically protect herself, as she'd demonstrated the night before. Chibs hadn't seen the fight- damn, was he disappointed about that- but had heard about it plenty. A possessive croweater fighting for the right to Tig, forcing Mattie into a confrontation. It was almost laughable, but then again, the bitch certainly didn't know very much about Matt's background, had no idea about the boxing or Book. That seemingly small mistake had turned a normal celebration into something of a legend, had elevated Mattie's position from hey-ain't-she-with-Tig to hey-ain't-that-the-girl-that-beat-up-tha-cunt-and-walked-away-like-nothing-happened? Chibs was proud of her in his own sad, odd way, especially when she told him later that she wished she'd been wearing the hot pink boxing gloves he'd given her for her birthday.

But whatever happened last night had nothing to with had occurred in the parking lot, with the danger that was slowly but surely creeping upon Mattie. Even if she thought she could handle it all on her own, it was still club business. Those pictures of her were sent to the MC, the threats were directed to the Sons just as much as they were to her, and so Mattie needed to stop playing the hero and let the club do its job. Let Chibs do his job.

"One asshole, sure, you can take care of him. But, Matt, what if it's two? Three? A whole gang of Nazi assholes coming after you? Tell me your chances then. Tell me how successfully you can use one gun against a dozen men." Chibs was tempted to hold her chin between thumb and forefinger to reinforce his point, but instead put a solid hand on her shoulder. "You're not invincible, not alone. Don't do something stupid because you don't want to ask for help. That's something Tig would do. Don't make a mistake because of your pride. Because of your fear."

That seemed to strike a chord within Mattie, and as soon as he'd finished his speech she'd straightened her posture and taken her keys from her purse.

"You win, okay? I'll go to the club. Maybe work in the office for a little while, get things a little more organized. But I can't stay there forever."

"I know. We'll figure things out, love. For now, for today, just please-"

"I'm going. Don't worry about me." Mattie smiled, not as broadly as she normally might, and added, "I'm sure you've got more important things to attend to."

He watched her unlock the car, back to him, chestnut curls drifting across mostly bare shoulders. Emerald green tank top emphasizing freckled, pale skin, jean cut-offs making Mattie's legs look long and shapely. Her body, dressed in just a simple, everyday outfit, made Chibs so fucking uncomfortable in such a warm, strange way, made his thoughts race and his palms sweaty. Damn it. Whatever boundaries he'd been crossing to calm Mattie down were coming back to bite him in the ass. The feeling of her flesh close to his, her clean, floral scent filling his nostrils… shit. The time in San Diego was supposed to ease Chibs' tension around Mattie, not send it into fucking overdrive.

"See you later?" Matt asked, turning around suddenly. It was just a simple question, a friendly one, but Chibs couldn't help reading into it- seeing meanings where there definitely weren't.

"Sure, love. Be careful?"

"Of course. Careful is my middle name."

He raised an intentionally skeptical eyebrow. "Matilda 'Careful' Cardinal? Does sorta have a ring to it."

"Yeah, guess so." Mattie squeezed his hand before getting behind the wheel.

"What is it really?"

"There are about five people in this world that know my actual middle name, and it's going to stay that way. Sorry, sweetheart."

"We'll see, girly, we'll see."

Those were the last words Chibs spoke as she turned the engine over. Diligently, he watched Mattie pull out of St. Thomas' parking lot and onto the street, making sure that there were no boogie men following the woman who had the terrible habit of making his pulse pound inside his ears.

Tig or not, Jax or not, Bobby or not, Chibs was still responsible for Mattie's safety. Not as openly maybe, but he felt a duty towards her that he'd not felt for a very long time.

Duty, attraction, who was Chibs to mince words?

* * *

><p>Tig watched Mattie with Bobby, her head cocked to the side, exhaustion very evident on her delicate, pale features. They'd all had a pretty shitty day overall, starting very early in the morning with Gemma's accident to Bobby's gunshot wound much after nightfall, with all sorts of awful adventures in between.<p>

Jax said that Matt stayed at the hospital for a little before heading out with Chibs- if Tig weren't so goddamn tired he might've ruminated on that dig for longer than he actually did- but he implied that her exit was more of a frenzied rush than her normal thoughtful composure. Tig didn't like that one bit- his girl didn't lose her head for just any reason. The Prince implied that it had something to do with seeing Gem laid up, but Tig had his doubts. Mattie had seen countless loved ones in the hospital, had seen people pass in front of her very own eyes. There was something greater going on that Tig couldn't see, or at least, wasn't quite able to. Not yet.

_I know it ain't really my place to ask, but… Did Matt really kill somebody? _Chibs spit it out like a goddamn rumor, like he was asking whether it looked like it might rain. Tig's mind seized up for what felt like hours before he was able to answer, words that were tethered together by denial. Mattie was fucking seventeen when she needed to take actions in her own hands, and fuck Chibs if he thought there was something wrong with her because of it. Mattie handled things in her own way, quietly and calmly, and didn't ask for help. Guilt management was part of her genetics, for fuck's sake. Tig'd heard Book say that Matt was 'the first Cardinal in three generations not to kill on command.' Didn't mean she didn't have the temperament for it.

But how, exactly, was Tigger going to explain that to Chibs? The asshole thought he knew everything, that he and Mattie were somehow cosmically connected, but Chibs had no goddamn idea what sort of woman he was dealing with. And what the fuck was Mattie thinking telling him that she'd killed Hirsch? Didn't she think that adding the words _in self-defense_ might've made a difference to her little admission?

Because Tig could see the residual shock, the slight disgust in Chibs' expression when he'd asked that question. Fuck him. Mattie, even with blood on her hands, was innocent. That man, that Nazi prick, came after her, and she chose her own life over his. A grown man went after a seventeen year old girl because he was slighted by her whore of a mother, and Tig had been damn proud to see Matt alive after that terrifying exchange.

So when he told all that to Chibs, his tone had been too harsh, his words sharp, his emotions- his instinct to protect Mattie, even her reputation- barely veiled. Chibs didn't have the right to the information he'd been gifted, and so Tig wasn't about to let him abuse it. Facts were facts, and the fact was-

The fact was that thinking about what nearly happened that evening more than ten years ago still made Tig's blood run cold. He didn't know exactly what went down- Mattie never elaborated and somehow, he was quite fine with that- how Hirsch's gun ended up in her hands, but he wouldn't have it any other way. The police report said that Mattie was just defending herself, and it was the fucking truth. Unser didn't have to edit that one.

Tig sighed, tired. The day had been too fucking long, too fucking loaded, and he didn't think it was going to end any time soon. But Mattie was there, at the club, sitting just yards away from him. Lending him some sort of support that he didn't expect, or honestly, wasn't really entitled to. Tig did irreparable damage to her life only months ago, and yet, she hadn't gone anywhere. Well, she did, but she came back. To him, to the club, to her family, and Tig still hadn't figured out a way to acknowledge her decision.

Because it meant fucking everything. It wasn't forgiveness, but Tig didn't need that. He needed Mattie, and that's exactly what he got.

_You ever tell Mattie about her? About the girl you lost?_ Opie asked that during a long lull in conversation, after Tig told him about Annie's death. A question not quite as sharp as Chibs', but just as invasive. Ope wasn't trying to pry, Tig knew that, but it'd placed a sizeable lump in his throat nonetheless.

Honestly? Mattie knew nothing about Annie. Why should she? What could she possibly gain knowing that one of Tig's girlfriends had passed away more than two decades ago? Before Mattie was fucking born, before Tigger was even thinking about the Sons of Anarchy, when he was still riding that sorry excuse of a bike that'd had since his sixteenth birthday. They were both nineteen fucking years old when he'd slid, when her body was dumped into oncoming traffic. He was going to marry that girl- and not just because she was pregnant.

How was he supposed to explain a heartbreak like that to Mattie? How did one convey heartbreak, anyway?

And knowing Mattie, and knowing how well she knew him, fuck it if she didn't already suspect something already. She didn't meddle in what happened in Tig's life before she was introduced to it, accepted whatever little bits of information he was willing to lend- which, admittedly, weren't very much. Tig had Matt's life story practically mapped out on the inside of his brain, and yet, he was very much… nervous to provide any details about his own.

Did Matt deserve to know about Annie? Perhaps. It would probably explain a shitload of things about his personality, about his temperament, answer a lot of latent questions.

Now, did he want Mattie to have access to that sort of information? Not necessarily. Tig trusted Mattie with his entire fucking being, but… He had a rigid, uncomfortable grasp on his secrets. Especially when she already knew far too many. Like that he'd been the one that killed Donna, not the Mayans, not the Niners, just Tig. He wasn't solely to blame, but he'd pulled the trigger, and no matter how he justified it inside his head, the facts always read one way: guilty.

But Mattie had not looked at him that way in a long time. Not since she'd been back in Charming. Order was slowly but surely restoring to their lives.

"Hey, you're awful quiet, Tiggy." A soft, familiar voice declared, a long-fingered hand poised on his shoulder. Mattie didn't call him that very often- Tiggy was mostly used by his brothers when they were trying to be cute- but it caught his attention just the same.

"You say quiet, I say mysterious." He teased, stifling a yawn. "You okay at the hospital today?"

Tig didn't want her there alone, however, he wasn't left with many choices. Club business came first, and Mattie knew that, but there was still this vaguely apprehensive look gracing her face that set him ill at ease. St. Thomas was more than just a hospital to Matt, it was a place of foreboding, of misery and death.

After all, Tig would rather it be anybody but Chibs holding her hand in comfort while she was inside the building.

"It was… not horrible, I suppose." Mattie brushed a rogue curl from his forehead. "Missed you, though."

Something clutched at his throat- an urge to agree, to admit that he'd missed her too- but all that escaped was an apathetic grunt. There were too many brothers around to delve into his rarely exercised sentimentality.

"Wanna go to bed?" It was all Tig could force through his lips.

"Sure thing, cowboy."

Tig's hand clasped around Mattie's, her fingers tangling with his. A brief, quiet indulgence of her presence, a display of affection that he considered neither too public or too intimate, just enough skin against skin to remind him that Mattie was close enough to touch. For six years, she wasn't, for a whole summer, she wasn't, and now, here she was, all tired grins and easy words.

Some of it was an act, and Tig knew that, but for now, for what they both needed, it was enough. Mattie was still hurt, and she probably always would be. He knew that her new, completely devastating instinct was to flinch away from him. He knew that by being in Charming, by being with him, Mattie was sacrificing part of herself, and there was nothing he could possibly do to change it.

Tig should resent the very notion that a bitch made him feel so goddamn guilty. That she made him feel like he was the one crawling back to her. That he'd relinquished some of the power in their strange, so very fucked up relationship.

But as Mattie slept soundly next to him- she always seemed to sleep better at the club rather than her own bed- chest rising, soft sighs escaping her lips every so often, Tig couldn't explain what sort of contentment settled against his heart. He'd loved three women and lost two, one to death, the other to… his own foolishness, and there, wrapped up in his covers was the third, who'd had more than enough opportunities to leave.

Something, whether stupidity or bravery, nostalgia or love, still kept Mattie close.

And Tig was secretly glad about that in more ways than he could possibly count.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sooo… My policy is usually that I have to finish a new chapter before I can post one, but I decided to cheat this time since I've been pretty distracted by the Olympics since Friday. They're sort of my favorite thing. Added the Weston/Zobelle part last second to explain **why** the pictures were sent- I reread it and wasn't sure if I ever made it clear. But anyway, I'm not sure if the next chapter is going to be present or past- I'd have to write something fresh if it's a flashback- but if things stay steady, I should have it out in about a week or so. But thanks for reading, and please leave a comment! Questions, concerns, feedback, etc- to keep me focused on MS Word instead of beach volleyball or swimming or gymnastics or diving… **


	35. Chapter 35

_Oh, will you walk with me out on the wire?_

_'Cause, baby, I'm just a scared and lonely rider_

_But I gotta know how it feels_

_I wanna know if love is wild_

_Babe, I wanna know if love is real_

_Oh, can you show me?_

_Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen_

* * *

><p>Tig leaned on the doorbell, not expecting to get an answer. Mattie had refused to speak to him all week, and now that Book was out of town with Bobby and Otto on a run, he was hoping that she'd come around. He knew she was home- her Civic was in the driveway- but after listening to her pound on the heavy bag all day long in the yard, he also knew that she was running solely on the leftover fumes of her anger.<p>

_You really thought it was a good idea to tell my dad about us without me?_

No, he didn't, but he'd put off telling Book for such a long time that he just needed to get it off his chest, plus, he was worried that Colleen would run her mouth before Gemma was able to do damage control. Tig elected not to tell Mattie about Colleen, thinking that it would make everything unnecessarily complicated- more than it already was- and piss her off even further.

Mattie looked scarily like Gemma when she was angry, all dark, pointed looks and tautly pursed lips. And the girl had a pro's mastery of the silent treatment. No matter what Tig did, she'd quickly pull away and direct her attention someplace else. In today's case, she simply held up one hand to silently say, "fuck off," and went over to talk to Koz mostly because she knew it'd irk Tig. Or at least that's what he assumed- because it really did annoy the shit out of him.

He was trying to save her reputation, for Christ's sake. Colleen was ready to go spreading rumors throughout Charming- a town she hadn't even fucking lived in for years- that'd destroy Mattie. She was already a biker's daughter, a title that the conventional small town society held in disdain. A biker's daughter fucking around with somebody more than twice her age? When she was just seventeen? Damn. Tig wasn't willing to put his girl through more shit than she already had to deal with. Not that schoolwork and prom preparations were really all that taxing to a girl like Matt. How many other Charming High Seniors could say they'd narrowly avoided death twice in one year- once by sheer luck and the other by force of will?

Like Tig thought, she didn't respond to the chiming doorbell, so he settled for pounding on the door instead. He wasn't going to be frightened off by a teenager throwing a temper tantrum. Even if he did kind of deserve it.

It was the first time that Tig could ever remember Mattie being sent home before the Friday night fights. Usually it was the opposite- Book forcing her to stay for his rounds in the ring before she was allowed to join Donna or the SAMCRO babies in their weekend exploits- but he ordered her to leave the TM compound. She'd asked why and Book replied in a single word: _Tig_. To her credit, she didn't react in any sort of predictable way nor did she question her father's demand. Just nodded in a resolutely and headed to her car. Refused to meet Tig's eyes as she went, which he should've known was a bad sign.

Sunday morning was the first time he'd actually managed to speak with Mattie- honestly, it was less speaking and more stalking, considering that he had to follow her into the library and coerce her into a conversation- and it hadn't gone well whatsoever. And if he wasn't already in so far over his head, then you could fucking bet he wouldn't have bothered at all. But Mattie didn't even listen to what he had to say, she'd just closed her eyes and ears- proverbially, she actually didn't avert her angry glare the whole fifteen minutes they were together- and told him to leave her alone.

"You don't understand the relationship I have with my father, Tig. I never outright lied to him about you, but I never told him either, and his eyes, that's the bigger betrayal."

"Don't be so goddamn dramatic."

Mattie, realizing that they were in the middle of the public library, couched her irritation in a single clench of her fists. "He's preached about loyalty since I was seven fucking years old. I can count the number of lies I've told him on one hand, and three out of five are about you."

"Please." He hissed dismissively. "You're no angel, sweetheart. I bet daddy doesn't know about all those times I caught you and the boy scout making out behind the clubhouse."

"David accounts for one fifth of those lies, which is still miniscule compared to your share." Mattie shook her head. "It's not so much that you talked to my dad, it's that you didn't bother to involve me. Now he think I'm some sort of sex-crazed teenager who lusts after men twenty years her senior."

"Eighteen."

"Same fucking thing." She bit out. "I lost his trust because I didn't have the balls to tell him about you. He's barely said a word to me since Friday and…"

Her voice broke and all Tig wanted to do was wrap his arms around his girl- he couldn't think of her as anything else- and tug her into his chest. But she took a full step back and folded in on herself, those red sweatshirt bedecked shoulders pulling forward and shutting him out.

Tig thought about asking who the hell she thought she was, walking away from him. Did she think he summoned _feelings _for just anybody? He'd spent nearly nine months letting Mattie run laps inside his head, indulging in the idea of pursuing the forbidden. He was still waiting to fuck her- could Mattie even comprehend the kind of self-control that required? Tig was all about instant gratification and his relationship with her was just a long, nearly unbearable waiting game.

Mattie still wasn't answering the door. Other men might've walked away at that point, but Tig persisted. Partly because he was worried- those memories of her incident with Hirsch were still easily accessible- and he was beyond ready to be done with their disagreement. He needed Mattie to forgive him.

When Tig told Book that he was in love with Mattie, he meant it. He didn't know why it happened- yes, he did- or when it happened- yes, he did- but his heart felt funny when she was around and he felt shitty that she was pissed and he fucking hated all of it. Tig never allowed a woman to fuck with his head but there he was, walking around the side of Mattie's house to the back door, which was one of those sliding glass numbers, with the intention of walking inside. First to make sure she was okay, then to hash things out for once and for all.

The door was open when he yanked it to one side, so he strode right in, announcing his presence with a few stomps and a loud shout of her name. Mattie didn't reply, but he followed the sound of a radio playing _Green River_- she inherited her love of all things CCR related from her uncle- into her bedroom.

"Matilda!" He cried again, irritation filtering through.

"Bathroom."

Tig didn't like the way she responded, so tentatively that he strode through her newly functional restroom- Book finished the tiling and grouting after Tigger left that one Sunday- with more concern than annoyance.

"I rang the doorbell about a thousand goddamn times." He griped, mostly because he was a little resentful that Mattie was putting him through his paces.

"And knocked for an hour." She replied through gritted teeth. "I would've let you in but I figured you'd either get tired or go in through the back."

"I thought I told you to keep your doors locked from now on."

"I was gonna sit on the porch and do some work but I got distracted." Mattie said, and then held up her left hand for him to inspect.

Tig inhaled quickly when he saw her long fingers, now dangerously swollen and tinted an unsightly purple. Her knuckles, normally an unruly plane of muscle and tendons, and the whimper when he brushed his fingertips across them, made his stomach queasy. Goddamn it, that fucking heavy bag. She must've messed herself up and then gone home hoping the problem would fix itself.

He was beginning to learn that was a regular thing with her.

"Baby." Tig moaned, though he couldn't hide his disgust. "It's bad."

"I know." God, her voice was so tiny and sad.

"Can you move your fingers?"

"I don't think so." Mattie lamented before pulling away.

Shit. Tig didn't remember much from the last time she'd injured her hand- Mattie hadn't really been on his radar then as just one third of the SAMCRO baby trio- just that it ended her competitive boxing so she could focus on the piano. It was one of those either/or situations Book hadn't been able to shut up about- Tig was at a time in his life where he _did not_ care about what anybody's kids were up to- and left her wearing a bright pink cast for nearly three months.

Mattie was majoring in something music related when she went to school, so if she lost those intricate movements… Tig didn't want to see the kind of mess she'd be.

"Give me your car keys. We'll go to St. Thomas, have you checked out." Tig said decisively.

"I'll ice it and see what happens in the morning."

"Matilda." Her whole name seemed to be the only appropriate response, and he closed the space between them, pulling her into his chest. She resisted only slightly, relaxing once her cheek met the patch-covered leather of his cut.

"They're just going to tell me what I already know." Mattie looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I knew when I threw the punch that I was going to hit the bag awkwardly and I was still so goddamn surprised when I heard something crack. I'm so fucking stupid."

"Baby." He sighed into her hair, knowing that there was nothing to say that could provide any real reassurance. Realist Mattie wouldn't believe a word of it. "Let's wrap your hand up and head to the emergency room."

She nodded dejectedly. "Okay."

Mattie went into her bedroom while Tig rifled through the medicine cabinet for an ace bandage. When he finally found one with elastic that wasn't completely stretched out, he couldn't help investigating the plastic round that held her birth control pills. While he realized that Mattie and the Hale kid had… explored… one another, he didn't like the idea of them fucking frequently enough to merit anything more than a half-used box of condoms.

Tig had always been possessive, but his relationship with Mattie sent his jealous nature into overdrive. The last time they'd been out- a Book-approved trip to the Sears in Stockton to help pick out a birthday gift for the girls several weeks ago- she'd been enjoying the warm late-April weather in a tank top that revealed a generous amount of cleavage. Enough to attract the attention of some particularly disgusting male shoppers, who couldn't keep their eyes off her chest. Part of him was proud to have a girl with tits worth ogling, but mostly, he was furious. Mattie was _his _and that meant unless he was feeling particularly charitable- not likely- her body was _his_ to stare at.

The guys at the club knew what lines not to cross. Even Kozik knew not to look, or at least be subtle about it. Tig's life revolved around the club for a reason- the rest of the world was a bunch of assholes who didn't know their place.

Mattie was standing in front of her dresser holding her left hand awkwardly over her shoulder when he walked into her bedroom. As shitty as Tig felt, he couldn't help but grin as she turned around.

"You're doing this for my benefit, right?"

"Help?" Mattie asked, using those big hazel eyes to her advantage.

Tig liked the view, her jeans unbuttoned but bunched around her ass, exposing a preview of yellow polka-dotted underwear. Was it wrong that despite her obvious pain, he was a little turned on?

"How can I be of service?"

She pointed an elbow towards a pair of sweatpants crumpled on the bed. "I can't get my jeans down with one hand, and I want to be comfortable just in case I have to stay overnight."

"'Kay, baby." He purred, sitting on the foot of her bed and gently tugging Mattie over by her belt loops.

Tig's mind spun with wicked possibilities as he worked the denim downwards, sure to guide his hands over the swell of her ass, teasing his fingertips over the firm flesh. Goosebumps bloomed underneath the thin cotton of her panties and he wanted to slide a few digits between her legs, see if she was as wet as he was hard. Shouldn't though, not when she was in agonizing pain- handling it with an occasional wince but not much else- and likely still mad at him. Tig's own anger had melted instantly away when he saw her hand- softhearted bastard- but Mattie's grudges usually stuck. There'd been several instances where she was pissed at the Prince for weeks, and he'd never seen her give up ground when it came to apologizing.

Mattie, when she wanted to, could be even more stubborn than Jax, and that kid was the most hardheaded idiot Tig knew.

Her jeans hit the floor and Mattie stepped out of them, angling her hips slightly against Tig, just enough so that he could admire the little crescents of skin that peeked underneath the cut of her boyshorts. While her ass was not as spectacular as her tits, Tig still enjoyed the sight before him, especially when he read the message printed on her panties in big, glittering letters.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?" She replied, leaning against his shoulder while he aided with looping the sweatpants over her feet.

"Why does your ass say 'let's get crazy'?"

Mattie shrugged. "Let's just say that I wasn't completely sober when I went shopping with Donna one day."

"Innocent little Matilda going to Victoria's Secret while she was drunk? I don't believe it." Tig deadpanned while tying the drawstring around her waist.

"I never said I was drunk." She retorted, "Koz and I shared a joint and then Donna sprung the trip on me."

His gut clenched. "Since when do you smoke with Kozik?"

"Jealous?"

"Curious." Tig couldn't hide his growl. "Ready to go?"

Mattie nodded, retrieving a set of keys from on top of her desk. The ride out to St. Thomas was short but silent- aside from a knocking in her engine that Tig made a note to inspect when they were on better terms- both of them wound up in their thoughts. He was still gnawing on the idea of Mattie spending time with Koz. It was different when she was with Jax and Opie; their togetherness was organic and mostly benign- though he never could be too sure with Jax- a remnant of their collective childhood. Tig didn't mind if the three of them spent an afternoon chattering away and getting drunk on cheap booze. Mattie getting stoned with Kozik? Yeah, not so much.

Koz wasn't really part of the mother charter family. Sure, he was a capable brother who helped lead in Tacoma, but he hadn't fully found his corner of the fold in Charming. Hard to lose the privileges as Sergeant-at-Arms- Koz was the youngest SAA in any charter, an accomplishment Tig'd heard more than enough times out of the blonde's mouth- but it was Koz's choice. Hadn't been able to get over the fact that he got passed up for the VP position for somebody with more experience, let his ego get in the way of the club. Tig personally found it ridiculous, but Kozik had always been a whiner. Tig was more of a grin and bear it kind of man, and when things got intolerable, he took care of them.

The emergency room was packed when he and Mattie walked in, even if the crowd parted a little bit when they caught sight of his cut. A short-tempered nurse at the front station politely informed them that the wait was going to be at least an hour, and if Mattie was lucky, she'd get a bed in the hallway. Then she handed them a few papers and a half-dead pen and sent them off. Tig had to glare at somebody just to get two seats together in the waiting room.

"This is fucking ridiculous." Mattie sighed, scooting close to him. The less than put together woman at her right was coughing into a yellowed handkerchief and Tig could tell his girl had no intentions of adding bronchitis to her list of maladies.

Tig nodded, looking down the intake papers. "You have your insurance card with you?"

"Yeah. It's in my wallet behind my license." Mattie shimmied, and he tucked his hand into the pocket she offered. The action didn't attract as much attention as he thought it might.

Mattie looked over his shoulder as he filled out the information, his hideous scrawl filling the tiny boxes. It was hard to write with her cheek pressed against his arm- he was a lefty- but he didn't protest. They were going to be stuck in St. Thomas all night, no reason to piss her off even more than she already was.

"What does the S in Matilda S. Cardinal stand for?"

"It just needs a middle initial." Mattie protested, pointing at the form.

"I know. Just wanted to ask." Tig raised an eyebrow. "Matilda Sarah Cardinal?"

"No. And trust me, you'll never guess."

"Matilda Sabrina?"

"God, no."

"Sadie?" Tig kept going as she shook her head at each one. "Savannah? Shannon? Stephanie? Sage? Come on, it can't be worse than _Sage_."

Mattie grinned. "Scout."

"_Scout_? Fuck you. Your middle name isn't Scout."

She laughed at his incredulousness. "Scout's the main character in _To Kill a Mockingbird_."

Book's favorite, well, book. He'd tried to get Tig to read it plenty of times, but the SAA always resisted, settling for a very occasional spaghetti western when he was feeling literary. He didn't devour novels like Mattie and her father.

"Your dad is a fucking weirdo." Tig murmured, easily filling in her birth date. He'd been counting down to June 18th for months.

"Better than Matilda Sage."

"Got me there, baby."

Mattie snuggled back into his side then, half-watching the television airing an episode of _Oprah_. It was either focus on that bullshit or people watch, and after only granting the St. Thomas patients a passing glance; Oprah was unfortunately the better option. Though the coincidence that the show was about women with much older boyfriends was just a little unsettling. And it meant Mattie and Tig were granted an audience of their own, people wondering whether they were father and daughter or something a tad more sinister.

Considering how his dick reacted when he glanced down her t-shirt, his intentions _definitely_ weren't paternal.

* * *

><p>Tig was standing in front of the microwave in her kitchen, watching a bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle rotate in circles. By the time they got out of the hospital everything in Charming was closed- the town had no fast food places, but even if it did, Mattie doubted any would be open past nine P.M. and they arrived back at her house a few minutes shy of midnight- and Tig was starving. With just one functional hand, she couldn't really whip up anything more nourishing than a can of soup.<p>

Wasn't broken, at least. Doctor said she'd exacerbated her old injury- a boxer's fracture of the third metacarpal, a.k.a. her middle finger, on her left hand, which required surgery to fix the first time around- and originally thought she'd torn a tendon, but no, it was just a sprain. All Mattie had to do was wrap it and she'd be fine in a about a week or so. As Tig encouragingly said, she'd be back to flipping the bird soon enough.

Mattie sat on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth while not so secretly watching Tig. Arms crossed over his chest, blue-eyed gaze intent on the microwave door, cheeks clenched to emphasize those sharp cheekbones. God, he was a good-looking man.

"Tigger?" She called out, and he turned slightly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow as the microwave chimed. Mattie wasn't exactly known for her forgiving nature, though then again, neither was he. But there was something about Tig that made her grudges instantly dissolve, leaving her wondering why she was angry in the first place.

Mattie hadn't expected him to go to Book. Especially without her. She'd been out in the lot with Donna, curiously watching Tig and Book stop sparring and start talking. Like an idiot, she didn't think anything of it, and kept hanging out with her best friend. Even when Book told her to go home she didn't think anything was wrong, until he said Tig's name and she realized what he'd done without her.

Tig was impulsive. His actions were always quick, even more so if he had to do something uncomfortable. _Do it and get it over with_ was his mantra, whereas Mattie's was _think about it a little harder, _so she should've known that the conversation with Book would happen at Tig's pace and not her own. She still wanted to be included. If she had been, perhaps Book wouldn't be treating her with a disdainful aloofness that made her feel like absolute shit.

Book knew that Mattie could lie, but when she was young he made her promise to never lie to him. No secrets because they were a team, they needed to be able to depend on one another. And she mostly obliged. Five lies over seventeen years. Sure, it was a small number to most people, but to Book, who counted on honesty from his daughter, it was a travesty. And to hear about her messing around with Tig from Tig? She knew what kind of a blow that was.

Tigger didn't, though. He didn't realize the kind of conflict his admission would cause, no matter how good his intentions were. Mattie understood that, but at the same time, Christ, he knew what Mattie's relationship with Book was like. When Reese and George left, when the Cardinal family was cut in half, it was just father and daughter against the world. Because of that, their bond was deep and strong, and unbelievably important to both of them.

Her upbringing wasn't conventional. She'd learned the perfect Jack and coke ratio by the time she was nine- her and Opie liked to play bartender when they were kids- and once she had it figured out, her father wouldn't allow anybody else to mix his favorite drink. At thirteen, they made regular trips out to the Bluebird property for target practice. Every week was a different skill; quick draw, accuracy, reloading speed… Sometimes she wondered whether he intended to train her as an assassin instead of making her proficient with a firearm. And of course there was boxing and driving lessons and all sorts of other things he'd taught her, wisdom passed down from one generation to another.

From her father, Mattie learned everything. Always think before you speak. Never wear your heart on your sleeve. Informed decisions over gut instincts. Trust should be earned, not given away. She learned loyalty and strength and intelligence from a man who killed people for the good of the club. Not many other seventeen year olds could say such a thing. Or be so proud of it.

Mattie loved her father, and she wanted him to forgive her for not telling him about Tig. But first, she needed to do some forgiving of her own.

"I was a bitch." Mattie leapt down to the floor and strode across the kitchen, masking her need to be close to Tig by fetching him a spoon from inside the silverware drawer. "A childish bitch."

Tig shrugged. "You're allowed to be pissed, I guess."

"I know. But then you had to go and be all nice today, so that pretty much blew my plan to shit." She handed him the spoon, "Thanks for coming with me."

"No problem, dollface." He said with a smirk, "It was worth it when the nurse asked what my relationship was to the patient when I handed her those intake papers."

"What'd you end up telling her?"

Slowly, Tig set down his bowl of soup and laid his hands on her waist, not so gently pinning her against the counter. After shamelessly asking him to help her change out of her pants- both in her bedroom and the exam room- she'd been waiting for him to express some of his pent up energy. Mattie would shamelessly admit that she liked being able to induce the erection he pressed into her lower abdomen.

"I told her that you were a young, beautiful, smart girl with tits that make my mouth water and an ass perfectly shaped to anchor my hands while we fuck and that it was none of her goddamn business whether I was your father or your boyfriend." Tig snarled into the crook of Mattie's neck, nipping her with his teeth as he punctuated each statement. The bites were tiny but brutal, bruising marks of his ownership.

"Did you really say all that?" Mattie whimpered when he took her earlobe between his lips, bucking when it was relinquished just so he could run his tongue along the whorl.

"Just said it was none of her business and when she got huffy, I made sure to point my name out on the emergency contacts." He kissed her temple before pulling away, reaching over to his soup. "By the way, I'm one of your emergency contacts now. First Book and then Gemma, but I'm number three."

Mattie smiled at that notion. "You want a beer to go with your soup, number three?"

"Sure."

Tig walked out into the living room then, no doubt to lay claim to the remote control. He'd been in charge of the television while they were in her exam room, though hadn't been pleased with the lack of cable programming in Emergency. For hours he bounced back and forth between college football and some action movie that she'd hadn't seen enough of to specifically name. If her hand hadn't been her first concern, she might've snapped, for her choice was easy: football beat cheesy explosions any day of the week. Didn't say that to Tigger, however. He was already doing Mattie a favor by sticking with her; he could've just dropped her off and been on his way.

Even Book would understand how Tig's surprising support would endear her to the big bastard- her father's favorite nickname for Tig- and that was just another reason she wanted to explain her feelings in her own words.

Mattie passed Tig a bottle of Miller- Opie had brought over a twelve pack last time the SAMCRO babies got together and nobody had touched it since, because both Cardinals were picky about their beer- before digging into her dinner. Just a leftover chocolate chip muffin from one of the many batches Bobby dropped off during the week, and judging by Tig's stare, he was beginning to rethink his choice of entrée. Too bad hers was the last one.

"Hey, I moved some stuff on the table around. Hope it wasn't important." Tig motioned to a pile of folders haphazardly shoved to one corner. College acceptance letters she hadn't replied to just yet. Time was running out, but that didn't mean that she was any closer to making a decision.

NYU, Berkeley and Notre Dame. All were calling her name, all were perfectly viable options. Book was still trying to enforce his rule that a club shouldn't be any more than an hour away, but he'd made it pretty clear that whatever Mattie chose, he'd be proud nonetheless. Helped that he'd been putting money into a college fund since she was a little girl, so at least that was one burden she didn't have to consider.

Mattie made sure that Book's checkbook was still amongst the mess- he'd lent it her so she could send out her deposit, and she'd got about as far as writing down a school's name before freezing and giving up- and settled down to watch the World War II documentary Tig had put on. Didn't miss the way he appraised the very obvious college brochures that he'd pushed aside, though.

"When do you have to decide?"

"By next Wednesday." Mattie answered, not acknowledging the look Tig shot her.

"Shit, Matt. Well, come on. Pros and cons, all that shit. Let's go." He ordered, swirling his spoon in the air for effect. Mattie just rolled her eyes.

"It's almost one in the morning. I don't want to do this now."

"You had months and months."

Tig leaned forward, exchanging his empty bowl for those papers. Wordlessly, he organized them into two piles, the order of which was lost to Mattie. True to form, she shied away from the task and focused on the rise of the Third Reich, paying more attention to Hitler than Tigger. She didn't want to confront her choices. Not when she was tired and in pain or when she was fresh and comfortable. And Mattie already played the pros and cons game, the either/or, the better or worse. It never made anything click.

"There." He announced, handing her Book's checkbook. "All done."

He'd written out a check for five hundred dollars to University of California Berkeley, complete with her father's signature lazily forged in the bottom corner. Everything else had been dumped unceremoniously into the small trashcan the Cardinals housed underneath the coffee table. Tig's dangerous expression dared Mattie to ask how he came to his particular conclusion.

"Tigger." It wasn't quite a challenge, just a request for information.

Tig took a deep breath, and she knew that his response wasn't going to be nice. "You didn't tell me that any of the fucking places you were considering were thousands of goddamn miles away. Indiana? New York City? You want outta Charming _that_ bad?"

"That's not-"

"Lemme tell you this, Matilda, it's not going to fucking happen." He got off the couch, violently propelling himself across the room. "Because guess what, darlin', you and me are a _thing_ now and that means you don't just get to go wherever the fuck you want. You don't."

"First off -" Mattie tried, knowing that he wasn't finished and she wouldn't get a whole thought out until he was.

"No! Remember the last time you were out on your own? Remember how Hirsch came into your house and tried to fucking kill you? Do you really think I'm going to let you fly across the country and go to a city that you've only seen in pictures, a place that's full of murderers and rapists just dying to get their hands on a girl like you? Do you really think I'm going to throw my girl to those wolves? No motherfucking way, Matt."

He was all frenetic energy, volatile limbs tossed in all directions, his blue eyes narrowed but completely focused on her. Mattie hadn't made a decision for just this reason- no matter what school she chose, Tig's reaction was going to be grandiose. He saw Charming as a utopia, a place that nobody in their right mind would ever want to leave. But all the women in his life, they saw it as a place to get away from. Colleen first, taking his two girls, and now Mattie.

It wasn't true, though. Mattie wasn't leaving forever. A few years, broken up by the occasional weekend spent at home and long stretches of vacation. She'd only be ninety minutes away at Berkeley, and Tig was still acting like it was a lot to ask for. God forbid she'd docked it from her list like she originally planned- her initial choices were just Notre Dame and NYU. What would his reaction have been then? Perhaps she'd be put on house arrest for the rest of her life.

It was _her _life. That was the whole point of turning eighteen and becoming an adult: she got to take control. Sure, maybe Mattie had a bad habit of being indecisive and putting things off, but that didn't mean that Tigger could intercept the slack and push her onto whatever track he thought was appropriate. Where was her chance for independence? Her opportunity for rebellion? Tig took full advantage of his, why couldn't Mattie?

"I understand that you're afraid-"

At least Mattie made it a few words into her monologue. "I'm not fucking afraid."

"That's not what I meant, Tigger."

He snorted. "What? You think if you look at me with those big eyes and pout those pretty lips I'm just going to let you do whatever you want? I'll just fall on my knees and go: oh, I'm so sorry, Mattie, I didn't mean to yell at you for not letting me know you were thinking about moving thousands of miles away for the next four fucking years. Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"It's not like I kept this from you on purpose. My college choice is not a personal slight against you, either. Back when I made these choices, you were just another Son and I was just another kid." Mattie headed towards her bedroom, tired of arguing. "But you do not get to tell me what I'm allowed to do. You do not get to draw some bottom line that I haven't agreed to."

"The fuck I don't." He retorted, following her down the hallway. "Don't walk away from me."

"Or what?"

Mattie waited. She waited for Tig to snap as they both descended into her bedroom, his breathing abnormally loud, his eyes dark and glaring. He was pissed at her for questioning him, for ignoring his opinions. She couldn't believe that he expected her to go along with whatever he said. Yes, she was quiet, and yes, she was young, but that didn't mean that she needed to be Tig's little robot. Mattie had a mind of her own and just because she didn't voice that very often wasn't an invitation for Tig to take control.

Speaking of control, Tig was rapidly losing his. He was a man who never needed to check his emotions, he let them rip as he experienced them, perpetually venting. Boozing, fighting, fucking. The Tigger trifecta. Well, wasn't enough liquor in the house to get too drunk, so that left only two options. He wouldn't think twice about hitting a woman either.

"Or what?" Tig pushed Mattie backwards, into her closet door, the slatted wood vibrating as she made contact. His hands locked on her shoulders; tightly enough that she protectively curled her left arm against her stomach. "Or _what_, Matt?"

"Don't." She whimpered, shrinking backwards. "Please."

Tig's brow crinkled, confusion filtering into his hardened features. "You think I want to hurt you?"

"I don't know."

"You're a fucking idiot."

It wasn't the answer she expected, and neither was the kiss he plunked down afterwards. Firm and forceful, his lips so taut that Mattie knew hers would end up swollen- between his mouth and facial hair, the evidence of a make out session with Tig was always embarrassingly apparent. For a second she was glad Book was out of town until tomorrow morning, and then Tig ran his fingers underneath her shirt and she was fucking ecstatic for her father's absence. Tig's callused fingertips expertly navigated the modest satin covered cups of her bra. Mattie couldn't help the porn star-style moan she released when he found the peak of nipple, nor the way she bucked helplessly into the bulk of his body.

Tig grinned, combing the motion with quick sweep of his tongue between her lips, parting with them with obvious expertise. Mattie was powerless. No doubt what he wanted to prove all along- couldn't with his words, so he used his mouth in other ways, knowing that Mattie wouldn't be able to resist. Not when he had her all flustered and hot and amazingly undone with just a long, searing kiss.

Was she really angry with him for making the decision she'd been avoiding for months? Mattie knew in her heart she wouldn't be able to go to New York or Indiana, wouldn't be able to ditch Charming in favor of something new. She wasn't good at change. After the overhaul her life had when she was seven years old, Mattie tended to cling to a good thing. And her hometown was a good thing, whether she was willing to recognize it or not. Her father, the MC, Tigger… she'd never be able to leave any of it. But Tig's possessiveness just got the worst of her. It was her choice to make, not his, even if it was the choice she was going to make all along.

Maybe Mattie was a fucking idiot.

Her hands were picking apart the tightly wound leather of Tig's belt buckle when he pulled away, the sudden absence of him leaving her cold.

"Matilda." He'd been using her whole name all day but she still hadn't gotten used to it. The only people that called her Matilda on a regular basis were her mother and Darby- well, now that Reese was done with him, just her- so she had a natural distaste for the sound.

"Yeah?" She replied, turning her face up in that sweet way she knew he liked. Eyes all big and adoring coupled with a faint smile, an innocent expression that belied the fact she'd just tried to reach inside his jeans.

"You're gonna kill me. Good thing I fixed your shower, 'cause I'm gonna have to take a cold one." Tig hissed dramatically, pecking her forehead.

"Sorry. About before, too." She wasn't good at apologies. Hopefully Tig saw the sincerity she was having trouble conveying.

"I know. And baby?" Tigger kissed her again, softer this time, "You're okay. I'd never… I'd never hit you. No matter what. You're my girl and these hands are only ever gonna make you feel good."

Mattie nodded. Whether his words were true or just a well-intentioned lie, she wasn't sure, but for now, she was soothed. And the promise of his hands on her body, well…

Somehow, she ended up in her bed, Tig on the living room couch- after a shower in her father's bathroom upstairs- and by the time morning rolled around, all the painkillers they'd given her at St. Thomas had worn off. With no chance to run to the pharmacy to fill her prescription last night, Mattie thought she'd be fine popping a couple Advil and gritting her teeth. Maybe not.

Stumbling out into the kitchen for an ice pack, it was impossible not to notice the discrepancy between the shuddering snores coming from the sofa and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. No coffeemaker sounds though, which meant that somebody broke out the French press, and that somebody was certainly neither Tig nor Book.

Bobby was making a mess, bags of flour and sugar on the counter, refrigerator door open while he scrounged around inside. Mattie wanted to have a talk with her father; however, breakfast with her uncle was something she would definitely not refuse.

"Damn, kiddo, you scared the ever lovin' shit outta me." Bobby chuckled, pointing towards the stove. "Preheat the oven to 350."

"What're you doing here so early?" Mattie asked over shoulder, maneuvering the dials on the ancient oven.

"Didn't feel like dealin' with Precious and thought you might be hungry." He raised an eyebrow. "You hungry?"

"Yeah. Can you pass me the fullest tray of ice while you're in the fridge?"

Her uncle obliged, but she didn't miss his questioning glance. After dumping the tray into a large Ziploc bag and flourishing her still black and blue hand, Bobby grimaced and turned back to his mixing bowl.

"Did you hit Tiggy?" His tone was teasing, but Mattie knew he wasn't at all pleased about the snoring man in the living room.

Bobby was always an odd combination of strict and indulgent, either condemning her behavior- under no circumstances was she allowed to bet on Book's fights- or encouraging it- whenever there was a poker game underway, he always made sure to include her at the table. He'd caught her and Jax smoking a joint behind the clubhouse when she was thirteen and after lecturing them for about twenty minutes, he lit another and shared it. But she wasn't sure how he'd take her and Tig being together. When she dated David, her uncle seemed pretty oblivious to the whole thing, but Tig was nothing like her always-on-his-best-behavior next-door neighbor. Tigger was a whore-mongering, hard alcohol swilling man who was willing to kill for the club, the exact opposite of somebody an uncle would like to see his niece with.

Would it better if Tig wasn't acquainted with any of the men in Mattie's life?

"No. The heavy bag at the club. Punched it weird." Mattie explained with a quick demonstration. "Daddy would be horrified."

"Don't think it's the worst thing he's seen in recent weeks."

She sighed at his not so hidden meaning. "He's made that pretty clear."

"I dunno. I saw it comin' a thousand miles away. Tigger's not exactly known for his subtlety."

"Guess not."

"So did Book. I think he's just in denial. Lotta changes happening, y'know? You're about to graduate and go off to college, and now you go ahead and shack up with Tigger? That's a lot for him to process. He'll come around, though, kid. He just needs a little time."

"To what? When Reese left, he spent about a day and a half getting drunk and then he was fine. It's been more than a week and he still hasn't looked me in the eyes, and I haven't done anything to merit that sort of treatment. Christ, you've seen how much time I'm allowed to spend with Tig. Do you really think we'd have managed to-"

He held up his hands. "Baby girl, you don't gotta finish that thought. And you know as well as I do that Reese was figuring out an exit strategy for months. Your daddy was more upset about losing George than losing your mama. But he's so goddamn used to having his little girl at his side that the idea of you spending time with Tigger instead of him when you've only got a few months left in Charming is chapping his ass. Plus, Tigger's reputation doesn't help things."

Of course. "Who do you think took me to the emergency room yesterday? Who do you think missed a Friday night party to help me?" Mattie argued. "I know that Tig's done bad things. I know it as well as anybody else. But he's never been anything but good to me. Shouldn't that be what matters?"

"Honey, I'm not gonna fight you. You're nearly eighteen; you can do what you want. _Nearly_. Til then, you know what they say about opinions. They're like assholes, everybody's got one."

"Very wise, oh wide one." Tig's voice from the doorway startled them both.

"Nice word play, Tiggy." Bobby replied, rolling his eyes. The years of indulging in his own baked goods had long ago taken their toll, so he was used to the teasing. Wide certainly wasn't the worst he'd heard.

"I try." Tigger tucked Mattie under his arm, before asking, "Whatcha making?"

"Apple turnovers with a caramel drizzle. Gonna have to hit the gym after breakfast, Tiggy, if you want to keep your girlish figure."

"I'll go a few rounds in the ring with your niece. With only one hand, I might have a fighting chance." Tig placed a kiss on the crown of her head, and she wondered whether it was for Bobby's benefit or hers. Wasn't going to knock it, though.

Her uncle turned to stir the bubbling pot of chopped apples on the stove, and Mattie took that as a cue to leave the master to his work. The television was already on when she settled into the corner of the couch- Tig must've been up for a little while before making the trip into the kitchen- an older X-Men cartoon playing on the screen. A fine choice for a Saturday morning spent at home with her uncle and… whatever Tig was.

He was walking into the living room when the front door opened, and Mattie's stomach dropped. There were only three people who wouldn't ring the doorbell and two of them were already in the house.

Book gave Tig's presence a quick once over before directing his attention to Mattie, tossing her small orange cylinder- her pain meds. He must've seen the unfilled prescription on the coffee table and headed to the pharmacy before she was awake. Even disappointed in Mattie, he still didn't abandon his fatherly duties.

"Broken?" Book asked gruffly, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Sprained. Few weeks and I'll be fine."

"Good." He walked towards the kitchen, hovering close to Tig before clapping him on the shoulder. "Thanks."

"Anytime, brother."

Mattie wasn't sure, but that small moment felt like progress.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know. I promised faster updates. I'm a liar, apparently. But ya'll wanted a flashback chapter and I had to write a fresh one, then life and internet troubles got in the way of a timely post. Seriously guys, next chapter will be up in less than a week. I hope. Anyway, thanks for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	36. Chapter 36

_In hind of sight, no peace of mind_

_Where it begins and we're defined_

_Shadows bend and suddenly_

_The world becomes and swallows me in_

_Whistle to a friend gentle till the end_

_Anyway in a name she takes shape just the same_

_On the Sea – Beach House_

* * *

><p>Mattie worked quietly in the office, trying her best to ignore the bead of sweat working its way between her shoulder blades. It was oppressively warm, though both doorways were wide open to welcome whatever pitiful cross breeze that tried to make its way through. No air conditioner and the one tiny window was pretty much rusted shut. The few inches she'd managed to wrench it upwards didn't offer much solace from the heat.<p>

So, not only was Mattie lonely, she was also sweating her brains out.

Working with Gemma was not exactly the most heart warming experience- the miniscule office usually turned the Queen into more of a ruthless tyrant than usual- but Mattie was willing to be bitched at for the better part of eight hours a day for some goddamn company. But Gem was still on house rest, and Matt was so bored and hot that she barely had enough energy to click through her game of solitaire.

Plus, after the argument she'd had with Tigger that morning, Mattie was still exhausted. It'd started out with a simple enough question- _why is there a fucking gun in your purse?_- and her refusal to tell him the whole truth, which escalated into something else altogether. Tig shouted, Mattie tried her best to duck every question, and they'd both stomped out of the house. It was about halfway to TM that she realized that they were headed to the same place and Tig wasn't following her to be spiteful.

Because honestly, Mattie wasn't sure how she managed to leave home with the fight only half-finished.

Tig was a man who, when he demanded answers, he expected to hear them. Mattie was a woman who only responded when it suited her- unless Tigger was asking the questions. Their relationship, for all its incomprehensible facets, had always thrived on the fact that the two of them had a deep understanding of the other. So when Mattie did something inexplicable and refused to explain herself, Tig usually got worked up.

Technically, it was her fault. There really wasn't a reason to hide A.J. Weston from Tig, or the little meeting in St. Thomas' parking lot. Except there was, and it all centered around the fact that Mattie was _scared_. Weston already hurt Gemma- even if she had no concrete proof, she was convinced there was some connection- and apparently knew all about Mattie's life in Charming. He had the balls to follow her all the way to San Diego just to force her back home. Weston and whoever he worked for wanted to keep her contained. Mattie, who had no sway or power in the MC whatsoever. That's what frightened her the most- with all that Weston and his pals knew, surely they were aware of her relatively diminished presence in the Sons. She didn't hold any real importance, and yet, they were perfectly willing to fuck with her life.

Mattie should tell Tig. She should tell him that she was terrified and wanted nothing more to hide out at home until Weston and whoever the fuck pulled his strings were out of town forever. And Tig liked to take care of her- shit, if his quick ride to San Diego after she was threatened wasn't proof of that, she didn't know what was. So what the fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn't Mattie just say the goddamn words? Tell him that she needed him to hold her tight and remind her that everything would be okay. Watch him get that fierce, sharp set to his jaw whenever he went into protection mode.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

All her life she'd been dependent on other people- Book, Gem, Bobby, Jax, Tig, Patrick- for everything. From emotional to financial support, Mattie never had any real need to stand on her own two feet. There was always somebody else to fall back on. Christ, Mattie had latched onto Tig before Donna's death, so close that they almost became the same person. When he killed Donna, when he shattered whatever bonds held Matt tight to him, she went crashing down without any hope of reassembling herself.

That was the problem of wholly depending on other people- when they let you down, you didn't know how to fix yourself. That was Mattie's problem, at least. She'd gotten herself stuck so many goddamn times without any clue how to earn her own freedom that now she simply refused to go back to being that passive girl. Mattie could take care of herself. She'd teach herself how.

And as far as death threats went, well, as she kept telling herself, she already killed one asshole, and taking out another shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Though a tight, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach usually followed that mantra.

Glancing up at the clock, Mattie sighed. Four fifteen. If it wasn't a Friday, Juice would've already taken over the office, she would have Moby home from school and wouldn't be in such a damn sour mood. But Fridays meant that Lowell clocked out early to spend a long weekend with Moby, a deal Clay offered up when the mechanic finished his stint at rehab. And it meant that Mattie was stuck shuffling papers and drowning in her own sweat.

Why hadn't she gotten up off her ass and looked around for a job in an air-conditioned building?

A quick rap of knuckles against the open doorway, however, interrupted that musing.

"Done with that brake job on the navy blue Camry. Owner probably has time to pick it up before closing." Chibs said from inside the doorframe, wiping his hands on a filthy rag.

"I'll give her a call. By the way, you seen Half-Sack? I've been looking for him all afternoon." Mattie subtly closed out her solitaire game and flicked over to the file with the customer's contact information. Her paycheck was… well, wasn't as much as she was making in New York, but it was probably way more than a normal office manager took home. She was better off looking like she wasn't wasting Clay's money.

"Think he's running a couple errands for Piney." He smirked. "He'll probably be at the wrap party at CaraCara, though. You could try him then."

"Very funny. It'll be too late then. I've got a repo the finance company wants brought in before the weekend, but we've been busy as shit since Monday, so I haven't been able to drag anybody away from the garage. Sack was my last hope."

"What about Juicey?"

"Nah. There's been too much electronic work. Juice is the only one who really knows how to do it right." Mattie leaned back in her chair. "Clay wants the mechanics to stay at TM, and I know the club is just as hectic, so I'm not really sure where to pull the manpower from. If Gemma was here, she'd have it figured out in a second."

"Gotta understand, love, that Gem has a certain amount of executive power. It's nothing that you're doing wrong." Chibs tilted his head for a second, almost imperceptibly, before adding, "I got an idea, but you gotta work with me."

"Alright. I'm game."

"Now, I think you're missing a very important phrase, sweetheart. When I say that you gotta work with me, I literally mean, you gotta work with me. Two of us, we'll go out and bring in the repo. Give you a chance to get away from this miserable office, I'll have some company, and we'll get some real work done." Chibs suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't just leave the office empty."

"Put one of the croweaters in here to man things for a little while. It's what Gemma does. Almost quitting time anyway."

"And what am I supposed to do if I agree to this plan?"

"Sit in the truck and look pretty, mostly. Haven't you seen those shows on TV? Where the girl holds the clipboard and the guys get into fights when the repos go bad? You're the lass with the clipboard, Matt. And if that hasn't convinced ya, it's hot as shit in here and the tow truck has A/C."

In her head, there was a line being crossed if she agreed to head out on the repossession with Chibs. It didn't make sense, and it didn't have an explanation, but Mattie could feel the betrayal somewhere. She didn't owe Tig that sort of loyalty, but it'd been paved within her so long ago that she wasn't sure how to be rid of it. Christ, how often did Tig cheat on her? How did he justify it? Sometimes Mattie asked herself why he was allowed to go off and sow his wild oats while she had to stay this sort of model of maidenhood, never straying.

And now, with CaraCara tied directly to the club… The infidelity was something that Mattie usually forced herself to ignore, but it was like every wound Tig ever inflicted had been ripped open when he killed Donna and none of them had re-healed. Not even remotely. Mattie was so full of sores, all festering and bleeding, and he was completely fine.

No, maybe that wasn't true either. She saw the guilt every time he looked at her, every time he was with Opie, those bright blue eyes full of dread. And she wanted to say that he _deserved_ it, he deserved all that damn misery because he caused it. She wanted to say that she still hadn't forgiven him, that every concession she made marred Donna's memory.

Mattie wanted to tell Tig that she shouldn't need to crawl back to him. Didn't want to. But something inside her broke, shattered, and so she fell, weak, back to his feet. Separation from him made her feel strong, filled her with false confidence, until she noticed the emptiness around her heart. Fuck her, she loved him. Fuck that seventeen-year-old girl that fell for somebody so completely inappropriate that every single person in her life warned her to stay away.

But most of all, fuck him. For so many damn reasons that she was too pissed to consider at that very moment.

And that was what helped Mattie make that final decision. To be less passive and to accompany Chibs on the repossession.

"Okay, okay. Let me grab Allie and see if she minds keeping an eye on things for a little while."

"That's what I like to hear. Meet ya in a few." Chibs waved her off as he descended back into the garage.

Allie was already pretty aware of how the office worked, which made sense since she was one of Gemma's favorite girls. Thankfully not one of Tig's, because that would've made Mattie think even harder about getting into that truck with Chibs. Maybe that was Mattie's problem. She was beginning to over think everything. Before, it was perfectly fine to ignore all the problems she couldn't readily fix. Close her eyes and pretend that they didn't exist. It was childish, it was impractical, but shit, it always worked until it didn't.

Although, when your man murders your best friend in the center of town, it gets pretty goddamn hard to keep pulling the wool over your own eyes.

Mattie was perfectly willing to keep descending down that solemn route of thinking, but something Allie said pulled her out of the reverie.

"I'm sorry about Jazmine. She had no right to do what she did."

Jazmine. That was another thing that Mattie was still desperately trying to forget about, not that her efforts were paying off all that well. Did Tig know that Jazmine was somebody he fucked when she first stared Matt down at Bobby's party? Is that why he was so protective? Trying his best to keep the two bitches separate, probably.

Wasn't like the two women didn't know about the other. Well, Mattie didn't know Jazmine by name, but she was aware of the sheer idea of her, of her generic existence. And obviously Jazmine was well aware of Mattie's relationship with Tigger, or else the fight wouldn't have been necessary.

But, fuck, why? Did Jazmine really think that Tigger was all that desirable in the first place? That as soon as Mattie was out of the picture, Jazmine would automatically ascend to Old Lady-hood? Ha! If the idiotic blonde knew anything, anything at fucking all, she would've chosen a different man. Didn't take a genius to see that out of all the Sons, Tig was the least likely to put a crow on a woman, much less one that he'd fucked a time or two.

Jazmine didn't know about Colleen, though. There was no way she'd been around long enough- Jazmine had to be older than Mattie, but she was a relative newcomer to the whole croweater game-to have seen Tig's marriage collapse. Maybe that's why she had such high hopes for a relationship with him.

Was it wrong that Mattie honestly wanted to have a long talk with Jazmine in order to figure out what the fuck the cunt was thinking in the first place?

"It's okay. Not like she's going to be around here anymore, so no big deal." Mattie replied finally, feeling like the voice between her lips was not really hers.

"Yeah. Your uncle read Jazmine her rights, frightened her the hell away. But I think you did a lot of the hard work." Allie praised, the redhead taking Mattie's spot behind the desk.

"Thanks."

"You're a good pair, you know. You and Tig."

Mattie wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Chibs was impatiently waiting at the door, so she was just left with her own thoughts on the matter.

It was the first time she'd ever heard those words. Usually it was somebody pointing out their age difference or their completely opposite temperaments, leaving Mattie to prove their compatibility. She'd thought their union was something inexplicable to the rest of the world. But hearing that another person understood their bond, shit, it was a relief. Years of tension and anxiety off her shoulders.

Maybe Mattie wasn't a fucking lunatic for loving him. Not if somebody else could figure out the links that held her and Tigger together.

She didn't think she'd ever felt so reassured any time in the past twenty-eight years.

* * *

><p>Chibs looked over to Mattie, not sure what he was supposed to say. Not sure if he should say anything at all. In the quiet of the tow truck, in the cool recycled breeze of the air conditioner, for a second, all felt right in the world. This Mattie was not the sullen girl in the office, the one that obviously dealt with the equally moody Tigger. Gone was the strange hybrid of timidity and independence from the St. Thomas parking lot. No, it was just Mattie and Chibs, silently watching traffic pass, listening to the gentle lull of the radio.<p>

He savored his glance, let his eyes trail down the braid thrown over one shoulder, strands of crimson shining through the chestnut in the late afternoon sun. Her father had red hair; she said once, all the Cardinal men did, though she just had a fine smattering of ginger highlights in her deep brown mane. It suited her, Chibs thought, wanting to twist his fingers through the little curl beneath the final twist of the plait, knowing all the while it was just a silly fantasy.

Mattie, all of her, from those brunette ringlets to the soft-fleshed curves of her body, belonged to Tig.

Even if he didn't really deserve it.

"I assume you're not going to miss the wrap party tonight?" Mattie was the first to speak, her tone low and easy.

"Come hell or high water, I'll be at CaraCara. And you, Princess?" Chibs rarely called her that, knowing that she absolutely hated it when Jax used the nickname.

But she simply smiled. "Haven't decided yet. It's either spending Friday night alone or with a bunch of gorgeous porn stars. Gonna deflate my self confidence either way."

"They ain't _gorgeous_, gorgeous."

"Very cute."

"I try."

Only a girl raised by a Son would be so lackadaisical about the prospect of handing out with a bunch of horny bikers and half-naked women. Especially when Tigger had sampled a large percentage of the latter.

There were a lot of subtle rules about infidelity in the club. _What happens on a run, stays on a run._ How many times had Chibs heard that grinningly stated by one man or another? Never from Tig though, mostly because he didn't have any regulations to follow. Whatever Mattie's role in his life, it was unofficial, and therefore, Tig was exempt from any real restrictions on his sex life. But Mattie? Christ, if somebody looked at her the wrong way, Tig was down their throat. And by _somebody_, Chibs was mostly referring to himself.

Because he was the only person stupid enough not to take their goddamned confusing relationship seriously.

"Can I ask you a question?" Chibs attempted to sound nonchalant, but he was sure there was some telltale dips in his speech.

"You know, you don't have to ask me that every time. You _can_ launch straight into your inquiry. I won't bite."

He thought that the grin on her lips was more amused than taunting, so he decided not to say something about her tight-lipped nature. "What the fuck happened this morning with Tig? Came to TM with just about the shittiest mood I've ever seen him in."

"Oh… Got into an argument, that's all. Nothing serious." Mattie shrugged in that innocent way of hers, and Chibs instantly knew there was far more to the story than she was letting on.

"Heard through the grapevine that it's impossible to win an argument with you." If she wasn't going to willingly elaborate, he'd just have to push her in that direction.

"So, I'm guessing that Jax said something?" She asked, softly laughing. "Maybe. He tell you the reason why?"

"Something about your unsatisfying ability to completely walk away from a squabble like it never happened in the first place and yet hold it against the other person for the rest of eternity." Chibs replied. "Do believe that is an exact quote."

"Sounds like him."

"And it sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would set Tiggy off." He directed a well-timed glance at Mattie, just as the traffic light turned yellow. She crumpled her face purposely, trying to make light of the situation.

"Fine, fine, fine, if you really want to know. Tig found the gun in my purse, the gun that you told me to carry with me at all times until Weston and his pals are dealt with, and asked why I had it. For a lot of reasons, I didn't tell him."

"Why not? He has a right to know if you're not safe."

Did she lose some of her unending faith in Tigger? Why else wouldn't she want Tig to know what happened? Fuck, Mattie knew how important keeping her safe was to that blue-eyed bastard. He practically ran down to San Diego the instant Juice showed him that email from Weston, and dragged her back up just as quickly. Chibs could see why the sudden appearance of Mattie's gun would shake Tig, why he would demand answers. What he couldn't explain was her desire to keep the wool over his eyes. Because he would bring it to the club? Because she would have to be under his surveillance until things were less dangerous?

"How do you think Tigger would take the news that I confided in you before him? How do you think that would turn out for either of us?" Mattie narrowed her eyes. "I don't have the energy to tend to his jealousies."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know that he's convinced that you and I are one bad decision away from falling into bed together. This, the gun thing, it'll blow over eventually. Give it a day or two. Hearing that I went to _you_ for advice? That's one gigantic conflict I am not going to fucking deal with."

Chibs tentatively mulled through a couple thoughts before choosing the most nagging one. "Are we?"

"Are we what?"

"One bad decision away from falling into bed together." Even as the words left his lips, they felt pathetic.

"Chibs… What do you want me to say?"

"I think it's pretty goddamned clear what I want you to say."

Christ, it really was. Why else would he ask her to come along on the repo? What other office manager in TM history ever set foot inside the tow truck for anything other than procuring a rogue piece of paperwork? It wasn't like his every thought was consumed by her, shit; he wasn't that fucking wretched, but he had clear and thorough feelings for Mattie. Troublesome feelings. Start shit with the club feelings. But her relationship with Tig always kept Chibs at arm's length, until their little meeting at St. Thomas. Mattie allowing him to see her like that, all broken down and teary-eyed? Chibs had no doubt that it was trust that crushed whatever reservations she might've had. He'd learned a long time ago- practically from their first meeting- that Matt was not a girl who trusted easily.

And that was why his head was up in arms about the whole damn thing.

"That's really not fucking fair." She protested, turning towards him.

It didn't help that she'd chosen a deep pink tank top that showed off more skin than it covered, and then paired it with a pair of denim cutoffs, exposing a pair of pale legs that Chibs found increasingly hard to ignore. That she sat a mere foot and a half away from him, all naked limbs and cleavage and sexily disheveled hair, no, that wasn't really fucking fair either.

"No, I guess it's not. Not to me, not to you, and I'd say not to Tig, but I don't think he's ever had a solid grasp on the concept of fairness."

After that, Mattie switched herself back to silence, pulling back into the farthest corner of her seat, drawing her knees upwards and wrapping her arms around them. The pose made her look much younger than she was- not that twenty-eight was by any means very old- and Chibs felt a pang in his gut. The tension wasn't her fault, not alone, at least. Chibs couldn't help how he felt and Mattie couldn't help how Tigger reacted to the situation. Even if she left him- not that Chibs believed it would happen- the Sergeant-at-Arms wouldn't allow any sort of relationship between Chibs and Mattie. Between her and _anybody_. Her only chance at happiness with a man besides Tig would be leaving Charming for once and for all.

Like she did for Patrick. Seemed odd that not even a year ago that Mattie was married, a whole coast away. Chibs couldn't imagine her there, in New York. Working at a fancy law practice, coming home and cooking dinner for her successful husband, watching her step-kids do their homework. For six years Mattie lived there, and yet, at the drop of the dime, she transitioned back into life in Charming so effortlessly it was like that time in New York didn't exist. She never spoke about Patrick, about her old job, none of it. Whether her attachment to her hometown was endearing or unhealthy, Chibs couldn't say, though he didn't think it had anything to with her return.

Because, if he did the math right, Tigger went to New York with Jax to smooth some things for the Irish just a few months before Mattie came back to Charming. And that couldn't be a coincidence.

Mattie wasn't impulsive. She wouldn't make a decision to leave her whole goddamn life on a whim. Something, or rather, somebody, had a hand in goading her out the gate. Chibs would bet good money that an unexpected visit from Tig was that very force.

If six years couldn't diminish whatever fucked up feelings Mattie had for Tig, what could?

Tig was an asshole who mostly treated Mattie like shit, but Chibs had to admit that the man knew her. _Knew _her. Whereas her moods read like a foreign language to Chibs, Tig could interpret them in seconds, with just a single, solitary glance. How did that happen? How did that even work? Tig paid so little attention to Mattie, fought with her so often, had missed six goddamn years of her life, and yet, he had such a handle on her personality it was fucking eerie. And it was the same with Mattie. Tig was unpredictable, erratic, and she could still forecast his reactions a good eighty five percent of the time.

How? How did two completely different people- Chibs would be hard pressed to find another couple as seemingly incompatible as those two- make their fucked up relationship stretch for nearly a decade?

Sometimes, he wondered how they started up. Not that either Tig or Mattie would ever breathe a word of it if asked- Chibs was making progress with her as far as trust went, but he was sure she'd bristle at the question. And Tig? Well, that'd be a lot more effort than it was worth.

He was starting to feel like that about a lot of things, most of them involving Matilda Cardinal.

The repo went fairly smoothly, no meddling owners getting in the way, the car pulled easily onto the lift, and most of all, Chibs was left alone to his thoughts. Matt lingered inside the truck, all tucked into her corner, fumbling about with that phone of hers. The fancy thing was practically glued into her fucking hand- wanting her to completely switch to a burner was practically the only thing he agreed with Tig about.

Once the Lexus was up on the tow and Chibs slid back into the truck, he noticed how Mattie had turned herself inwards, towards him, eyes all wide and alert, mouth pulled into a no nonsense line.

Her words surprised him though.

"I didn't mean to snap at you." Mattie said, allowing one flip-flopped foot to fall back to the floor.

"I… I know you didn't."

"It's just that I don't know how things are supposed to be between you and me. I don't know if we're supposed to be friends, or if we're just supposed to be civil, or if we have to just let the other be. Adding in… all these other factors, I don't know, Chibs. The more I think about it, the clearer the answer is, and the less I want to admit it to myself. You're the only person I know that doesn't make snap judgments. You listen, Chibs. You _listen_. Do you know how fucking rare that is?"

"Mattie, I-"

She put up a hand, a quick distraction from the trembling of her lips, a subtle, tender movement that Chibs couldn't miss if he tried. "I'm not a vocal person, you know that. But for some strange goddamn reason, I can talk to you. I don't know why. But I know it puts you in a weird position. I know it does, and I know that it has to do with me and Tigger, and I would change that if I could. But I can't. So if that's a deal breaker, if you can't manage me without the option of you and I having a romantic future together, I understand. Just tell me so that we can both move on with our lives."

Chibs want to dart a quick, passionate kiss between all those too-taut phrases, to divert from her well thought out monologue, but he just watched the dilation of her soft coral lips instead. Absorbed her speech and tried his best to answer it with one of his own. It wouldn't come. Mattie had put it out there, clear as day, that she couldn't be with him. Never. No option. And she'd left it in such a direct, take it or leave it manner, shit, Chibs didn't know what to say. _Do you really mean that_? was the first thing that came to mind, but it felt as pathetic as it sounded.

There was no way to fight her on it. No pleading, no logic could break her decision. And the sad thing was that Chibs knew it all before she even breathed one word.

But he said it anyway. Or a variation of _do you really mean that_?

"Do you really believe that? Do you really think that you're going to have the patience for Tig forever?

"I don't know. I didn't say anything about forever. I said the future. That could be tomorrow, or next year, or two decades from now."

"Tig will be what, almost seventy? You're telling me that you're going to be in love with that asshole when he's a goddamned geezer?" Chibs cracked a smile, hoping that she would notice. "Princess, we're good. I was just busting your balls earlier. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Don't call me that."

That was the answer he was betting on. "Whatever you say… Princess."

"Maybe I should've given you the boot."

Chibs shrugged as he turned down Main Street. "Maybe."

Part of him, a tiny, almost negligible fraction, was sure that they'd both made the wrong decision.

But Chibs decided to focus on making it to the festivities at CaraCara instead.

* * *

><p>It was late when Tig got home, still drunk, mind buzzing, his limbs all on booze-fueled fire. He didn't think Mattie would attend the party, shit, he would've been floored if she'd waltzed in unannounced, but that didn't mean the awful little fantasy hadn't been working its way through his brain all damn night.<p>

Even while a ginger haired whore was trying to work her magic, Mattie had firm hold of most of Tig's thoughts. And it pissed him the fuck off.

Why was she keeping secrets? Why would she need to carry her gun with her- the gun she'd kept purposely locked in a safe in the basement- all of a sudden? If Mattie didn't feel safe in Charming, it was something she needed to take up with him, not take care of herself. Mattie was his girl, his responsibility, and come hell or high water, Tig was not going to be forced away from whatever shit had her all nervous. After all, what use was a Son that couldn't keep shield his woman from the dangers of the outside world?

And she knew that he'd feel like that. She'd know that Tig would consider her tight-mouthed response a slight. Of course she would.

Because that little bitch knew _everything_.

Tig was really trying his best not to flip the fuck out. Even thought every nerve in his body craved for a violent, rage-filled release, he kept it all clenched in tight. Last thing he needed was to scare Mattie away again, especially over something as idiotic as her choice to tote around a firearm. That's what he kept telling himself, at least, though it required a more and more emphatic delivery every time.

The lights in the house all were out, aside from the glow of a lamp in the living room, a sign that Mattie long ago migrated upstairs. She wouldn't wait for him- Tig hadn't been planning to head all the way home, but his brain kept nagging him to figure out the truth- but it was early enough that he was sure that she'd still be awake. His predictions were proved correct when he heard the dim rumble of a television while climbing the stairs, since Mattie was one of those people who preferred both complete silence and darkness when she slept.

Her hazel eyes betrayed only the slightest suspicion when he walked through the doorway, though the tension in her shoulders read easily from across the room.

"Figured you'd stay at the club." Mattie stated it, didn't ask, which irked him to no end.

Tig just shook his head as calmly as possible, and pulled his cut off his shoulders, setting it over the arm of the loveseat in the corner. He could feel her watching him, studying his movements, interpreting them and formulating an offensive. Did he come home to fight with her? That's what Mattie was asking herself, preparing herself for, even as she nonchalantly inspected her fingernails. Tig wanted to reassure her, but shit, even he was confused about his motives.

In the morning, all he wanted to do was get away from her. Let the storm pass and worry about other things, but over the day, their argument festered. Christ, Tig just wanted to know was what was bothering her, and what he could do to fix it.

Was that really so much to ask?

Maybe it was. How often did Tig grant Mattie the truth? And yet she sat content with whatever bullshit line he offered up, time after time. Patiently wading through all the lies without batting an eyelash. And yet the second she held the tiniest bit of information hostage, he fought her for it. Women had secrets, Clay had told him once, but club women had vaults of them. Learn them at your own risk, he'd finished.

Mattie didn't kept secrets from Tig, though. Right? No, that was not exactly true, there were multitudes of things she didn't want to discuss with him, all of them emotional and difficult. Her vulnerable places, every time he'd broken her heart, they were hidden deep inside Mattie, and Tig was beyond sure she'd never let them escape. And didn't he have his own little corner of dark confidentiality inside his brain? Beyond all the shit he normally kept from her?

For once, perhaps their disagreement was an instance of the pot calling the kettle black.

"Thought we could talk for a little."

Disbelief was evident on her features, but she replied with a curt little, "Sure."

"First off, this morning… it got out of control. Agreed?" Tig raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Mattie sat up then, drawing the flannel button down she'd likely snatched from his sliver of closet tighter around her torso. Her long legs cascaded from beneath the comforter, and his eyes followed the goosebump and tattoo-laden flesh up to the hem of her cotton shorts. He wanted to lay his hands against the smooth, firm skin, but Tig didn't venture forward, knowing that the intrusion could frighten Mattie away just as easily as it could soothe her.

Like approaching a doe in the woods, one had to take caution when dealing with Matilda Cardinal, a lesson that Tig had learned a very long time ago. Or maybe, like with everything he knew about his girl, it wasn't something that he necessarily _learned_, but innately understood.

"I'll trade you," Tig bargained, "I'll trade you a secret for a secret. Just this once."

Mattie parted her coral lips briefly then closed them again, as though reassessing his idea. He could see the bristle in her drawn out movements, her unwillingness to be forced into a corner- even if it was a corner that had never been offered before. Adding in the fact that she was not necessarily pleased with Tig after their argument in the morning, for a moment, he didn't think she would approve.

But then, a faint grin lit her mouth. "How can I be sure that you're going to play fair in this little game?"

"Trust, I suppose," He retorted cockily, knowing that the response would broaden her smile- though if it was in sarcasm or agreement, Tig couldn't tell.

She licked her lips- the movement was definitely intended to be a distraction, and it nearly was- and tilted her head to the side. "Then you have to promise me something, Tigger."

"The deal was a secret for a secret, but I'll see what I can do."

"Next time I don't want to talk about something, you don't press me about it. You don't give me those dark looks and make feel guilty as shit. You don't come up with these sneaky arrangement to get me to do what you want. Accept the fact that sometimes I need a certain amount of privacy." Mattie scooted closer to him. "I love you, Tigger, I really do, but shit, baby, you can't just demand information from me. I'm not club business. You can't give me your Sergeant-at-Arm's glare and expect me to comply. Okay?"

He wanted to disagree, tell her that he could whatever the fuck he wanted whether she liked it or not, but something deep inside his brain would not comply with the compulsion. His mind rerouted his decision, converted it into a grunt of understanding and coupled it with a nod. Perhaps Tig did owe Mattie the small favor she asked. She suffered his bad behavior without a single word, watched and accepted his every betrayal for years, without a damn question.

Matt wasn't perfect, though. She left, and she didn't look back.

Tig couldn't quite deny that he hadn't pushed her to that breaking point.

"I lost a girl once. Before I was patched in. Her name was Annie Mason." Tig glanced up to find a pair of hazel eyes locked onto his own. "We were on the interstate and I lost control. She fell into the other lane, just as a truck barreled down the asphalt and… you can figure out what happened after that shit."

"Tigger… I'm sorry." Her voice was tiny, almost tentative. Tig never prepared her for the admission, and that showed in the trembling of her bottom lip, in the hand nervously shuffling to hide that tremble and in the widening set of her eyes.

He didn't give her any warning because he knew that if he did, if he gave any indication that his admission might make her uncomfortable, she would've flinched away. Mattie would've closed her eyes and closed her ears and pretended that Tig wasn't speaking to her at all, wished him and his difficult words away. Shit, Tig didn't have any other choice but to blindside her.

"I loved her, Matt. I loved her, and I lost her, and I lost her- our- baby." He bit the inside of his cheek. "And it's because I love you that sometimes I go a little fucking crazy. You're not Annie, I know it, but…"

Tig trailed off then, not sure how to finish the statement. The Reaper stole one girl from him already, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep Matt from reaching that same fate. Danger already touched her life far too frequently. Scattered across her flesh were the tattoos of three shell casings, reminders of the bullets she needed to use in order to save her own skin. Every time Tig glanced behind her right knee, just below her sternum or above the knob of her left elbow he was faced with the fact that once, he hadn't been able to rescue her in time.

So Matt could use the gun in her purse to make herself feel safe, but he'd be damned if she actually needed to fire it.

And after her admission- told with her head pointed down at the floor- Tig's resolve to keep her close and out of trouble more than doubled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey! It's only been less than a week since the last update! Pretty good, huh? I think I'll post another chapter or two in present time before adding another flashback- it'll give me time to write it and not take forever. Anyhow, thanks for reading and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	37. Chapter 37

**_In a dream, oh I hate how you make me feel_**

**_Love is safe in the blink of an eyelid_**

**_The outer change to_**

**_Now the problems with me are in you_**

**_In the cut, in the heart of the darkness_**

**_I feel as though, I feel dark I feel heartless_**

**_Are you feeling love too?_**

**_Now the problems with me are in you_**

**_Wait & See – Holy Ghost!_**

* * *

><p>"Your grocery list is really long," Moby chimed, holding up the lined yellow paper, "This is gonna take a million years!"<p>

"Oh yeah? How old will you be in a million years, Moby Harlan?" Mattie retorted with a smile as she added a bag of flour to her shopping cart. While her list was a little longer than usual, she didn't think it was quite as long as Moby made it out to be.

"A million and six years old!" He thought for a moment, and then added sadly, "Well, in four days I will be a million and six. Until then, I guess I'm just a million and five."

"Maybe by the time we're done here at the market, you'll be six years old."

"Then I'll miss my party!" He exclaimed, balling his little hands on his hips. "I sure hope it won't take _that_ long. Daddy said we'd have cake and ice cream and presents. Are you getting me a present, Mattie?"

She'd already picked it up last week, a whole bunch of his favorite book series. Probably not the most glamorous of the gifts he'd get, but Mattie knew he'd enjoy them on the afternoons he waited in the office for her. Besides, how many action figures did a six-year-old boy need? If she asked Moby, she was sure what his answer would be: a million.

Grinning at her own little joke, Mattie replied, "Of course, I am. But if we don't hustle over to the dairy aisle and pick up some string cheese, I might not have time to wrap it in this special bunny rabbit wrapping paper I got just for you."

"Hey! Bunnies are for babies!" Moby protested, "And you said that when I'm six, I'll be a big kid! Officially!"

"Did I say that? I think I told you that when you're six, you're gonna have to get a job so that I can pay for all these groceries. This is going to a big bill, buddy." Mattie teased, watching Moby put on his are-you-serious face that he used whenever she got too silly.

"I can't get a job. Besides, Tigger told me if I ever needed anything, I could always ask either him or you. He said that you'll both always take care of me, no matter what."

It was the first time in Mattie's life that she got teary-eyed next to a display of cheddar cheese. Tig had a habit of surprising her, usually with something unpleasant, but then he would have a rare moment of tenderness that knocked the wind out of Mattie. She knew that Tigger had bonded with Moby while she cared for him during Lowell's… recovery, though she'd never considered the extent of it before. How many mornings did the trio spend around the kitchen table eating breakfast? How many nights did Tig tuck Moby into bed?

In those precious months, didn't they, despite everything, sort of become a family?

Tig wasn't just helping Mattie take care of Moby. He was, in his own way, acting as surrogate father to the little boy, flexing all the parental muscles Tigger swore he didn't have.

Hearing Tig had lost another child- Annie's, the girl who'd died before Mattie was even born- it struck such a hard chord of sorrow inside her she wasn't sure how to handle it at first. He didn't tell her things like that. He didn't offer Mattie explanations for his behavior. She learned to simply accept his actions and deal with the consequences as they presented themselves.

Mattie began to understand why he did what he did when she miscarried. Her child wasn't the first one Tig lost. How hideous was that? Mattie could barely handle that sort of grief once, but twice? Without breathing a single word of it to anybody? How? Perhaps Tig was more walled off than she ever realized, a master of compartmentalization beyond even her capabilities.

Tig didn't let things fester. He dealt with his emotions, and then he was done with them. Mattie was the one to hide her feelings until they became too unruly to ignore. Tigger was known for his hair-trigger, his ability to instantly react. As much of a bitch it was to deal with his temper, Mattie knew it was an asset for the club. Tig didn't hem and haw about things like most people- read: like Mattie- he was wired to just _do_.

Which was why she was so confused about his admission. Annie's loss still hurt him, Mattie could see it in his too-blue eyes when he told her about his former love's death, and that honestly scared the shit out of Mattie. Not because he might still be in love with a dead girl- though, if she gave it enough thought, that would begin to bother her eventually- because talking about her still made him _feel_ something. Which would be normal for literally _anybody _else, but Tigger? Who dealt with his own emotions at warp speed? It was irregular enough to distract Mattie from all the other shit that normally fucked up her life.

Although, she would have to admit that it seemed like Tig was actually _trying_ for a change. Today he'd actually acknowledged her as his Old Lady in front of a few Sons, even though Mattie was sure it was some kind of mistake. A little verbal slip he could retract whenever it suited him.

The part that really shook her? Mattie wasn't even taking part in that particular conversation. Somebody must've turned the radio in the garage down low, probably Clay, who was supervising while Juice installed a new speaker system in some asshole's already too flashy Jeep- when you've already got neon lines mounted underneath your car, you really don't need anything else to prove just how a big an asshole you are.

Normally, shoptalk wasn't something she had the opportunity to eavesdrop upon, between customers and placing orders and sorting through paperwork. But it was late in the day, after lunch and before quitting time, a filter of quiet in an otherwise busy Friday. Their voices drifted in the open door, so Mattie used their conversation as background while she went through the latest batch of credit card charges.

"You heading to CaraCara after your shift, Tig? I'm thinking about checking out the action when I clock out." Juice asked, his voice characteristically cheerful.

"Just so we're all aware, the porn studio is not the Sons' personal entertainment service. I like to look at those fake titties too, but you boys are definitely taking unfair advantage of the situation." Clay cut in gruffly, but there was a twinge of humor in his response.

"They're not all fake." Juice replied dejectedly, and Mattie could visualize the boyish frown on his lips.

"Kid, let's just say there will never be a silicone shortage at CaraCara." Tig said with a scoff. "Anyway, I'm gonna take my Old Lady out tonight. Get a little bit of time in before the run tomorrow."

And that's when Mattie had been unable to hear the rest of that conversation over the beating of her own heart. A normal woman wouldn't consider his verbiage or tone romantic, nor the nameless date, but then again, how many of them had ever been in a relationship with a man like Tig? It'd taken how many months for him to admit that he loved Mattie, and the first time he chose to articulate it he'd been pressing a gun into her ribs. And in all their years together, he wouldn't refer to Mattie as his _girlfriend_, let alone mention the prospect of her becoming his Old Lady.

As far as Mattie knew, giving her his crow was just about the last thing on his mind.

But she was probably making too much out of nothing, a bit of conversation that she shouldn't have been listening to in the first place. Repeating it over and over again while she was supposed to be doing her grocery shopping wasn't going to help matters either, so she buckled down.

In the end, it didn't take a million years, as Moby originally guessed, but a little over forty-five minutes in the market. Which gave the two of them just enough time to run home and put the food away before heading to drop Moby off with his father at TM. Normally, Mattie would pop into the office and fix things before heading home- it was usually Juice or one of the croweaters who'd take over, and if it was the former, her desk was usually a war zone by the time Mattie returned- but today, she was thinking about going into the clubhouse for a drink or two. The Sons would be heading out on a big run tomorrow, gone for the whole day with a few other charters.

The way Tig kept avoiding the subject made Mattie pretty sure that whatever the club was doing, it probably was more than just a simple charity run.

"Mattie?" Moby asked just as she pulled out of her driveway on the way to the club, his little voice surprising her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, kiddo?" She glanced at him through the rearview window, smiling at the state of his messy hair.

"Who's coming to my party on Sunday? A lot of people?"

"Well, your dad, of course. Me, Ellie and Kenny, some of your friends from school. Maybe grandma?" Mattie tallied, unsure whether to also tack his mother onto that list. Crystal was not the easiest person to get in touch with, which had been Mattie's job since dealing with his ex-wife triggered Lowell's urge to use. So far Mattie had left her half a dozen messages without a single response.

"What about Tigger? He coming?"

"I don't know. He might be busy, sweetheart. But I'll make sure to bring his present, okay?"

"Okay."

He was quiet after that, and Mattie hoped that she hadn't disappointed him. But she couldn't exactly expect Tig to attend a five-year-old's birthday party, even if the three of them played house for a little while. He was an outlaw biker; though that was something she would have a difficult time explaining to Moby, so Mattie just let things be. By the time Sunday rolled around, the little boy would forget all about Tigger's attendance.

"Mattie?" Moby chimed again.

"What's up?"

"Your phone is ringing."

It was, but there was a good reason that Mattie refused to answer it's insistent vibrating. Every one of her missed calls was from Patrick, and since there wasn't any real reason for his repeated attempts to get her on the phone, she'd been ignoring him all day. Whatever he wanted couldn't possibly be important enough to merit any attention.

And the last thing Mattie wanted to do was be caught off guard from an entire coast away.

"It's okay. I'll call them back later."

"Good. Daddy says it's not safe to talk on your phone when you're driving a car."

"He's right. It's very dangerous, kiddo."

By the time they pulled into the lot at TM, her cell was vibrating again, but with the alert of a voicemail. Mattie would listen to it… but later, because Tig was hanging out under the overhang. Whatever Patrick wanted could definitely wait.

Perhaps forever.

She set Moby up in the backseat of Lowell's old Buick and waved the two of them out of the lot before she walked towards the clubhouse, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible while walking over to Tig. He could always sense when her mood was irregular, if it peaked or plummeted without an apparent reason. Though it was pretty hard to hide a smile as Mattie approached him.

His arms were folded over his chest, shoulders relaxed, leaning against a picnic table. Listening to something that her uncle was saying, mouth turned up in one of his trademark smirks. Tig hadn't lifted his eyes to her yet, but Mattie was glad for the chance to arrive unnoticed. It removed some of the pressure of remaining casual.

Then those ice-blue irises darted straight at Mattie, a mix of pleasure and something that she couldn't quite identify. She didn't have a chance to think it through before he spoke.

"Settle an argument for us, Matt." Tig motioned her to his side of the table, tucking her underneath his arm in one swift motion.

"I'm tellin' Tigger that your father kept a '65 GTO in his garage when you were growing up, but he thinks it was a '69. Now, I know he didn't let anybody near it, let alone drive it, but you remember Book talkin' about it?" Bobby relayed a let's-see-who's-the-idiot-now stare towards Tig, and Mattie got the impression that money might be relying on her answer.

"I do remember that car, actually. I wanted it when I got my license but he told me that despite the fact he loved me very much, there was no way he was going to let his sixteen-year-old daughter drive his'67 Pontiac GTO." Mattie grinned at the memory. Book normally let her have the world, but that was one of the few restrictions he applied.

"Damn." Bobby cursed, hitting the table with the palm of his hand. "Guess this one's a draw."

Tig rolled his eyes. "If that's what you want to call it. Now that we're settled, I think me and this one are gonna go inside and enjoy some air conditioning. Fucking warm for September."

"Have fun. Not too much fun. She is my niece, Tigger-"

"Uncle Bobby." Mattie drawled, much as she had when he'd tease her when she was a kid.

"Okay, okay, I know you're gettin' too old for warnings, but I gotta try, yeah?" Bobby held his hands in the air. "Gotta take care of my bike for tomorrow anyway. Bringing out a classic."

"Much like it's owner." Tig retorted as they reached the clubhouse, and Mattie watched her uncle flip him off just as the door shut behind him.

"Sorry I couldn't win you any money." She apologized, even though she didn't really mean it. Tig had a habit of saving his money for months before blowing it on one stupid bet or another. Bobby probably wouldn't take him for much, but still, she liked knowing that Tigger's finances were all in order.

"Should've agreed with me. I'd be fifty bucks richer."

"Are you asking me to lie to my uncle?" Mattie asked playfully, pretending to be offended.

"Please. You're an accomplished liar; I might as well take advantage of that. And I know that sounds like an insult, but trust me, baby, it's all compliment."

Mattie liked when his voice got low and slow like that, when his words were meant solely for her. No games. No ulterior motives. Neither one of them was very good at the truth, and they could talk in circles for hours, so moments like these were refreshing. Memorable, for as small and benign as they might come across.

The clubhouse was loud, a few hours away from bustling, but in that moment she didn't notice all the men at the bar or sitting in front of the TV. Just her and Tigger standing a few feet in from the front door, together, like they'd never broken each other. Somewhere along the line, Mattie started to feel normalcy creep back into her relationship, but she'd thought it was a fluke. A misdirection until things turned really wrong.

In this brief indulgence of each other's company, Mattie realized that maybe their world had finally found its equilibrium. They'd found simplicity. Not forgiveness, no, but one day she'd figure that out. And Tig realized it. It wasn't something that he could press. It wasn't something that he could fight for. Either he'd find his pardon or he wouldn't, and there wasn't any other choice but to live in the meantime.

Though she sometimes felt that just existing with someone else could become as complicated as constant tension. Especially with Tig.

Sometimes, Mattie would wish for the easy flirtation of their initial relationship, when it was a forbidden idea that they were both exploring. A secret shared instead of hidden. Were they both more bold back then? Did Mattie already have the ability to censor herself without really thinking about it? Could Tig keep her at arm's length from the club without outright ignoring her?

Honestly, Mattie couldn't even remember how it'd been at the beginning. Life had been different when she was still a teenager, but now, she didn't think it was better or worse.

It was just different.

* * *

><p>Mattie seemed calmer than usual, Tig noticed. She was in an easy mood, all flirtatious glances and soft laughter. Didn't fight out of his embrace. For once they were together without tension.<p>

Tig wasn't sure whether to be pleased or suspicious.

He didn't dwell on that for long though, because Mattie clinked her shot glass against his before tossing it back, a motion so smooth that he couldn't help watching. Pretty pink lips against clear glass, hazel eyes briefly closed, curls tossed as her head tilted. Then the crinkle of her nose as the vodka settled against her tongue, an expression that he knew she was desperately trying to fight.

"I know you're not supposed to mix alcohol, but if we do another, we've gotta switch to whiskey." Mattie complained, that wrinkle in her nose extending to her forehead. Tig couldn't help but grin.

"That's your limit, lightweight. Just a little to take the edge off." He replied. Despite the fact that he'd watched her get drunk with the Prince since her teens, Mattie's tolerance always fluttered somewhere between three or four drinks. Any more and well, Tig usually needed to drag her back to a bedroom and put her to sleep.

That's what he'd done on the night of Bobby's party, when she'd gotten into that fight with the croweater. Tig had barely seen it happen, just heard the commotion and raised voices and headed over before something got broken. Honestly thought it was somebody from another charter causing trouble. But no, it was his girl with her fists up, beating the crap out of some bitch who decided to tread on territory that didn't belong to her. Mattie wouldn't talk about what started the brawl- of course not- but Tig knew full well that it had to do with him.

It wasn't cheating. When Mattie was seventeen, it wasn't cheating because he couldn't legally sleep with her. Needed an outlet. When she went off to college, it wasn't cheating because she was ninety minutes away. Couldn't make a three-hour roundtrip every time he wanted to fuck. And when she went to New York, well, he didn't even need to justify that. And now… Tig wasn't sure how he explained it to himself. To her. Promiscuity was in his nature? A learned trait?

His father wasn't faithful to his mother. At all. Rick Trager had every piece of tail in the small town where Tig had grown up, and everybody knew it. His mother most of all. That's why Tig hated his father as a child, hated that he'd made his family into fools without even really trying.

Somewhere in the past forty some odd years- he was getting precariously close to fifty- Tig Trager became Rick Trager, and he was too ignorant to realize it. But wasn't that how it always went, the son becoming the father?

He'd inherited that same compulsion for infidelity. Because that's what it was- Tig got bored, he wanted to have sex, and then he was done. No emotional connection, just a brief physical union that left him sexually satisfied until the next time. And yeah, his tastes occasionally went towards the taboo- Mattie probably didn't mind being exempt from some of his stranger fetishes- but he was fueled by a need that he'd never really tried to understand. Sometimes, Tig just _needed_ to fuck.

An addiction. Simple as that.

That fight made Tig see that he needed to be more respectful about the croweater situation. Every time Mattie went to the club, she had to have that shit thrown in her face. Couldn't be easy. Not that she ever uttered a complaint about it. Either Book or Gemma had made sure she was well versed in SoA etiquette.

Plus, the more stupid shit that Tig did, the closer he pushed Mattie to Chibs. The two of them were spending an inordinate amount of time in the office together. He'd heard that Mattie was even going out on repos with the Scot. It set Tig's teeth on edge.

Tigger never thought that being a hypocrite would suit him so well.

"Gonna feel weird with all of you gone tomorrow." Mattie remarked quietly, a frown ghosting her lips. "Town's gonna be quiet."

"It'll be okay. Piney's gonna stay here, keeping an eye on you girls."

"I know. Just got used to things like they are, that's all." She shrugged.

"It's not like we're going to be gone forever. Just a run, Matt. Think about how many runs Book used to go on with Otto and Bobby." Tig took her hand in his- the left, so he was especially careful, since it was the broken one she still babied all these years later- not knowing why she was acting so strange. One moment she'd been all puppies and fucking sunshine, where had the transition to nervousness occurred? Where had Tig missed it?

"I'll be okay." Mattie smiled. "It's my little way of saying that I'll miss you, Tigger. Jesus, I have to spell it out for you?"

She might brush it off with her teasing tone, but Tig knew better. Mattie was worried about something, he could see it in the way she bit her lower lip when she grinned. Always did that when she was anxious, especially when she wasn't ready to explain herself to him. Another secret? Tig thought about demanding answers, maybe even trying bargaining again, but decided that maybe it was better to wait out Mattie's uneasiness. Whatever was churning the gears in her head would stop eventually.

Maybe changing the subject would help. "You eat yet?"

"No. Thinking about stopping to grab something on the way home."

"Good. Because the two of us, we're going out to get a burger."

Mattie raised an eyebrow. "Like a date?"

"Call it whatever you want sweetheart, because we are going to have some dinner and then we're going to go home and have…" Tig let the sentence linger for a moment, "Dessert."

Another grin, this time without biting her lip. "That sounds pretty good. And now I'm doubly glad that I decided to wear nice underwear this morning."

"Satin or lace?"

"I dunno, buddy. Gonna have to wait until _dessert_ to find out." She placed a delicate kiss against his cheek, before hopping down from her barstool. "I'm gonna freshen up in the bathroom, then do you want to go?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Tig watched Mattie walk away, watched those hips sway back and forth as she navigated the growing crowd. Soon the real party would start, the music would grow loud and the sweetbutts would be out in droves. Quiet conversations became raucous shouting matches, minor grievances morphed into fistfights. Typical Friday night festivities with a few of the smaller out of town charters in attendance.

She stopped halfway to the bathroom, waved over to the far wall by somebody who Tig hoped wouldn't be around until much later in the evening. He wasn't betting on Chibs arriving late though, which was about a quarter of the reason why he planned on going out with Mattie instead of staying for the party. Seeing them together was a stranger hell than imagining them together when he wasn't around, mostly because it was more infuriating to watch the interaction. Chibs' eyes roaming down Mattie's body, admiring the tight bright blue t-shirt she wore which showed off her tits, memorizing the length of pale legs below dark denim shorts. The slow appraisal pissed Tig off, made the urge to cross the room and deck the other man so forceful that his fists were clenching on their own accord.

But there was another glance; this time from Clay but directed to Tigger, head tilted in warning. _Don't even think about it_. Clay had a point; there was enough going on in the club without the petty bullshit between Chibs and Tig. Because it was petty- Tig knew that he didn't have to worry about Mattie wandering to the Highlands. He knew that she wouldn't indulge Chibs' feelings, but that didn't change the tension concerning the two of them.

Chibs should know better. That's what it all boiled down to. Maybe Mattie too. She was raised in the club; she knew all the unwritten rules just as well as Chibs, and she definitely knew how Tig felt.

He needed another drink.

By the time he swallowed his scotch, Chibs was alone again, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand. Finally. Tig could still manage a civil conversation with two alcoholic beverages in him. Just a quick one, after all, Mattie would be back soon enough and then he'd be able to get her out of the clubhouse.

Tig decided to ease into all the shit he wanted to say as he crossed the room, approaching Chibs as casually as possible. The other man offered him a raised eyebrow and a knowing glance, as though he realized that his exchange with Mattie had been closely observed.

"Heard that you're not going to be sticking around for the party." Chibs said simply. "Not very like you."

"Yeah, just wanted to spend a little alone time with my girl. You know, take her out for dinner and a long drive, then finish off the night in her bedroom." Tig shrugged, trying his best to seem nonchalant.

Chibs grinned. "Tryin' to make me jealous, Tigger?"

"No. Just stating the facts. No, reminding you of the facts. And it ain't up for discussion. I don't care if the two of you are best buddies, but if I ever see you stare at her ass as she walks away again, I will fucking end you. Understand?" He hadn't meant for his temper to flare or his voice to dip down into a growl, but at that moment, he didn't care anymore. Chibs was blatantly doing things to piss Tig off, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to call him on his shit.

"Try it. Go ahead and hit me, Tig."

He didn't take the bait. "I would, because honestly, it worked pretty well in my favor last time, right?"

"Yeah. It did. Mattie ran right to you. But things are different now, whether you want to admit it or not." Chibs countered, raising an eyebrow in question. "So, if you trust the fact that she's yours no matter what kind of shit you pull, hit me. If not, well, just go on your damn date, Tigger, and leave it alone."

Leave it alone? Leave it alone? Give Chibs a free pass to stare at Mattie whenever he wished? Allow him to press ever closer to her? Tig did trust Mattie, trusted her implicitly, but Chibs didn't know what had happened between the two of them. Didn't know that Tig had been the one to kill her best friend. Didn't know that he'd been ready to kill Mattie too. Didn't know that he'd knocked her up and left her at the hospital. Didn't know how bad a seventeen-year-old with bright hazel eyes had warped his mind more than a decade ago. All Chibs knew was that Mattie and Tig were together and it wasn't perfect, and to him, that was more than a logical reason to try and get his foot in the door. He hadn't seen their history.

Chibs didn't actually know shit, but sure as fuck thought he did.

Mattie was walking back then, lips bearing a faint smile that disappeared as soon as she saw the two men together. Those hazel eyes effortlessly analyzed the sort of trouble that could've happened in the few moments she'd been away, and whatever she'd assessed drained the color from her cheeks. Tig read that newly formed bleak expression easily, the twist of her mouth, the single wrinkle of suspicion between her eyebrows. Mattie was somewhere between nervous and annoyed, though without further information, he couldn't be sure which was directed at whom.

"Hope you're not talking about me behind my back." Mattie greeted, leaning into Tig. That was a good sign. And the fact that she tangled her fingers with his? A better one.

"Never. Though I will admit that we were both impressed by your little oil change today." Chibs easily lied.

"It wasn't a big deal. I just needed to get that bitch out of TM before I clocked her."

Ah. That. A demanding customer, too much mechanic work and a frustrated Mattie all equated to a never before seen sight: his girl underneath the hood of a car just outside the garage. Not that his girl bent at the waist with her ass in the air was a terrible thing to witness- just the opposite- only that it'd attracted the eyes of his least favorite Scot. Of course. Catching Chibs mid-gaze had reinforced the decision that for a little while, Tig needed to get Mattie away from the club.

And as Chibs took another not-so-subtle glance down the front of her shirt, Tig took the cue to pull her out of there while he still had the chance.

"Come on, baby. I'm starving." Tig tugged her hand. "Catch ya later, Chibs."

"Have fun." He retorted, waving them off. Tig didn't miss the smirk he'd directed at Mattie as they headed towards the door.

Fucking asshole. Goddamn fucking asshole.

The last rays of daylight were filtering into the evening as Mattie sat on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Tig was tempted to say fuck it to dinner and just go for a long ride, like they used to do when she was younger. Driving for miles with Mattie pressed close, her hair and her voice dancing in the wind as asphalt whirled beneath their feet. _Just go_, she'd whisper in his ear, _just go until the world looks different. _

Problem was, these days; the world was the fucking same no matter where you laid eyes.

Diner wasn't crowded when they walked in, a few families lining the booths along the walls. Tig pointed to the back corner where a small secluded table sat. Mattie nodded appreciatively, she always was one for privacy, and the hostess brought them over without protest. Charming had long ago learned to just let the Sons do what they wanted around town, and that included seating themselves for dinner.

"Can't take you anywhere." Mattie teased, and a real smile finally settled across her lips.

"Hey, keep talking like that and you'll have to pay for dinner."

"Wow, a real date _and_ you're paying? What happened to my Tigger?" She asked, raising an eyebrow over her menu. He liked it when she played possessive. _My Tigger_. Had a ring to it.

"Asked the prick take the night off."

Mattie laughed at that as the waiter came over and announced the specials. Didn't matter though, Tig was set on a bacon cheeseburger and so was she. By the time the waiter walked to the kitchen to put their order in, her smile faded, replaced by something tentative. Questioning, almost.

"What is it?" He asked, pretending to search his hands for leftover grease from the garage.

"Wondering if you ripped Chibs a new asshole or not back at the clubhouse." When he opened his mouth to argue, she added, "You don't need to bother denying it. I know you said something to him, just wanted to know whether there's a brawl on the horizon or sunny skies."

"I just told him that you were my girlfriend and that he'd better watch his fucking step." Tig said sourly, and not because he'd finally given Mattie a title.

"Girlfriend?" Mattie asked with smirk. "Well, Chibs should watch his back then."

Give it to Mattie not to ask a dozen questions about her new label, just a brief look of satisfaction before she inquired about his day at the garage. Tig almost wanted her to request definition, but no, she just ticked through all the repairs that needed to get finished before the middle of next week. Come on. She'd always been good about boundaries, but shit, wasn't she proud of Tig for coming to his senses? This was commitment! Real fucking commitment and Mattie wasn't going to say anything else?

A little recognition was all he was asking for. Christ.

Maybe he already had it. Maybe Mattie knew all along that she was his girlfriend, officially or unofficially, and the verbal confirmation was just a bonus. Didn't he, after all, have her nickname tattooed on his chest? She'd been on his skin for nearly eight years- he'd gotten it on a drunken, lonely night when she was away at Berkeley- and just now he was getting down to brass tacks. And Mattie had imprinted him on her own flesh just a few months ago. The archway on her hip, a subtle ode.

Mattie already knew she was Tig's girlfriend. Much longer than he had, apparently. Now, did she have any clue that he'd suddenly and accidentally been referring to her as his Old Lady around the clubhouse?

Probably. His girlfriend had sharp ears and intuition. Putting two and two together was second nature.

Tig thought he was unpredictable.

Apparently not.

* * *

><p>Their date had gone remarkably smoothly, and Mattie was looking forward to getting him home and naked as quickly as possible. Milkshakes for dessert were chosen with the prospect of something of much more decadent in the bedroom and she hadn't been able to get rid of the thought since.<p>

They were in her driveway, already shedding clothes- his cut pulled off his shoulders, a sweatshirt she'd borrowed discarded onto concrete- as his lips crushed hers hungrily. Between all the arguments and residual ill will of Donna's death, it'd been too long since last time Mattie had Tig the right way. Not just a before-somebody-notices-we're-gone fuck in his dorm at the clubhouse or a before-their-lunch-break-ended quickie locked inside the office. She wanted to have sex with Tig. Real sex. Slow and breathy and…

She couldn't think as Tig ran his hands down her back to the swell of her ass, squeezing the flesh hard.

"Gotta get the keys out, baby." He murmured in her ear.

Mattie fought for brief control of her thoughts, rummaging through her pockets for the offending object. Money, phone, chapstick… ah, keys. Tig pulled them easily from her fingers, turning towards the short walkway up to the porch. When he stopped suddenly and seized her wrists, Mattie couldn't decide whether she was excited or scared shitless.

"Don't say anything." He whispered. "There's somebody on your steps."

Mattie hadn't thought to leave the porch light on when she left to drop off Moby. Dumb decision, she lamented, watching helplessly as Tig took his gun from its holster. Hers was back at the club- again, dumb decision- inside the glove compartment of her car. The car that she'd planning to pick up in the morning, when Tig rode back to TM for the run. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, but this is private goddamn property. You've got ten seconds to leave before I pull the trigger." Tig growled, climbing the three short steps to the porch. "I'm gonna start counting, so you'd better start running."

"No!" The responding voice was young, girlish. "No! I'm just looking for Matilda! I don't mean to be trouble!"

Mattie could see Tig lower his Glock just a touch, disarmed by the youthful reply. "Matt… You've got a visitor."

She followed Tig's path, tucking herself into his side just as the speaker came into view. Maya. Patrick's teenaged daughter. Here in California, light years away from the boarding school she attended in Vermont.

Now Mattie was beginning to understand all those phone calls from Patrick that she'd unwisely chosen to ignore.

"Dad doesn't know I'm here." Maya warbled.

Mattie unlocked the front door. "Go inside."

"But, Matilda-"

"Go inside, Maya." Mattie insisted. "I'll meet you in a moment."

The teenager was well into the living room before Tig's confused expression exploded into a single question. "What the fuck?"

What Mattie didn't tell Tigger was that she was thinking just about the same thing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay. Ya'll have a choice. I can keep going with this present day plotline, **or** I'm about halfway done with the flashback that takes place right before Mattie turns 18. I'm planning to have her birthday be a chapter by itself- if you know what I mean ****. Anyway, leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	38. Chapter 38

_I could show you love_

_In a tidal wave of mystery_

_You'll still be standing next to me_

_You could be my luck_

_Even if we're six feet underground_

_I know that we'll be safe and sound_

_Safe and Sound – Capital Cities_

* * *

><p>Mattie was up before Tig's alarm went off, even though she was exhausted. Her head felt a thousand pounds heavier than it did at dinner last night, her heart still hadn't stopped beating irregularly and the pit in her stomach was growing more cavernous as the sun filtered brighter through not quite closed curtains.<p>

If she hadn't listened to the single voicemail Patrick had left yesterday, maybe the morning would feel less voluminous, less like there was possibility for failure hidden in every passing minute. It was nearly ten in New York. Late enough for Mattie to dial Patrick's phone number and explain that his accusations were wrong, his assumptions were mistaken. But remembering the tone of his voice still made her teeth ache.

**I know my daughter is in California. And I know she's with you. All you have to do is put her on a plane, no questions asked, Matilda. Let me just remind you that she's fifteen goddamn years old and keeping her in that hellhole of a town you live in is legally considering kidnapping- though I'm guessing that you already knew that, considering I was the one who paid for your fucking law degree. Give Maya back, or I swear that I will make your life miserable, Matilda. Think you can live without my alimony checks? Think you can support yourself? No, you cannot, because of choices you have made, and if you think you can subject my child to those same decisions, you're damn near insane. So, when you finally come to your senses, call and give me the flight details so I know when to pick up my daughter from JFK. **

Well, fuck him. Mattie had no idea that Maya was even in Charming until she and Tigger stumbled upon her on the front porch. Hell, she had no goddamn idea that the kid even knew where she lived! She understood that Patrick was worried about Maya, but shit, blaming her for things way out of her realm of control was ridiculous. Insulting, even. Which was why Mattie decided to wait until morning to call Patrick.

Of course, after listening to that message, her plan of action was the exact opposite of what Tigger wanted to do, and he knew even less about the situation than she did.

"You expect me to let some motherfucker a whole coast away talk to you like that without any repercussions? You expect that kind of disrespect to stand?" Tig had demanded, walking back and forth through her living room with a beer in his hand. Maya was upstairs already asleep after explaining why the hell she was thousands of miles from her boarding school in New Hampshire. That left the two adults to figure things out.

"No, I don't, but there's nothing that we can do about it, is there? She's here for now-"

"For now? So we're taking in a runaway- a runaway whose father is going to accuse us of kidnapping?" Tig clunked his beer on the coffee table, "Goddamn it, Matt. Fuck this shit."

"Trust me, Patrick is all talk. I have his balls in a sling and he knows it." Mattie said, even as she hung her head in her hands. "I just don't understand why she came to me."

She explained about Patrick's affair with a patient, a surefire way to get his medical license taken away and ruin his sterling reputation. Their divorce- what a silly way to describe the erasing of Mattie's name from a few documents- wasn't fussy, but if it'd gotten complicated, she had the upper hand. He realized that, let Mattie leave with her assets, agreed to alimony payments and then they both went on their merry ways. The alimony was more a gesture of goodwill than anything else, after six years of their pseudo-marriage; Patrick knew Mattie could keep her mouth shut.

So when Maya _begged_ her not to call Patrick until the two of them could come up with a plan, she'd reluctantly agreed. Goddamn Book and Gemma for their relentless lessons on SOA ethics. _I don't care if you lie, darlin', hell, it's damn necessary sometimes, but you give your word on something? Make a promise? You keep it. Not because it's the right thing to do, but because Cardinals keep their promises. Always. Remember that, kid. _

But was her father right? Was it _right_ to keep her promise to Maya when both of them could go to jail? Her for running away, Mattie for alleged kidnapping, hell, anything was possible. Especially considering Mattie had finally transitioned to David Hale's shit list. He'd have more than enough reasons to arrest her if Patrick tried to make a stink.

Last night, Mattie didn't care about the logistics of Maya's trip. How she'd gotten from New Hampshire to California, how she'd found out Mattie's address. She was nervous about the reception Maya got from Tig- a gun in her face had to be about the last thing she was expecting- and Tig's reaction to the sudden house guest. It was one thing for Moby to be running about, but a fifteen-year-old? A strange fifteen-year-old, to be more precise. Yeah, Mattie was kind of thinking things wouldn't go well.

"Maya, why aren't you in school?" It'd been the first thing Mattie thought to ask as she collapsed into her favorite armchair the night before, thoroughly exhausted despite the fact they'd barely begun to speak.

"Why aren't you in New York? Why aren't you with Daddy?" The girl countered, her lower lip shaking. "You left and you didn't even tell me! I came home one weekend and you were gone, like nothing had happened! Like you weren't even there in the first place!"

"You know what your father is like. I… couldn't be with him anymore. I couldn't stay and pretend that everything was okay. But that doesn't explain what _you're_ doing here."

Maya's nostrils flared at Mattie's reply, jaw clenching as she listened. Both of Patrick's kids were his spitting image, stick-straight golden blonde hair and dark grey eyes set within a pointed, regal face. Effortlessly tanned, tall and lean. Despite his shortcomings, Patrick apparently had flawless genetic material.

"If you know what my father is like," Maya parroted, "Then I'm sure you can come up with a lot of reasons that I'd want to piss him off. Leaving school was one of them. Coming to you, another."

"That's fucking vague," Tig had commented, "Matt, I realize she's not actually your kid, but I think she shares your gift of deflection."

Maya scowled at him. "You don't know me."

Mattie interceded, knowing how easy it was to stoke Tig's temper. "Stop it. Tigger is just trying to help."

"_Your_ name is Tigger? Like from Winnie the Pooh?" Maya shook her head incredulously. "Rambo might be more appropriate."

"It's a nickname. And it's just Tig to you, kid."

He shot a look at Mattie before crossing his arms over his chest. His bright blue eyes told her Maya was more difficult to deal with than Mattie in her most tight-lipped moments. Maybe it was the difference in upbringings- being raised in Charming amongst bikers and a strict mama bear was the complete opposite of Maya's affluent urban childhood. Book always said when an adult asked a question you answered, and well, when it was Gemma asking most of them, you were pretty much obligated to tell the truth. Deflection and distraction didn't work with the Queen, she saw through the bullshit every damn time.

Though it was pretty damn obvious that Maya had full control of this particular conversation, despite Mattie's attempts to snatch the reins away.

"So… Daddy knows about your tough new boyfriend?"

Mattie rolled her eyes. "If you wanted to talk about me, Maya, you didn't need to come all the way to California in order to do it. So you can try and buy time to think of a story, and that's fine, but you are eventually going to tell me what the fuck's going on. Now or later, you're going to answer my questions."

She saw Tig smirk out of the corner of her eye. He liked it when her normally calculated speech sparked and then caught fire, especially when he wasn't the one stoking her temper. But Mattie's mellowness had been stretched far beyond its boundaries, and she wasn't going to wait for Maya to cooperate. The teenager had ruined her plans for the night and there were plenty of things Mattie would rather be doing than pleading for answers… like writhing naked underneath Tig.

Her boyfriend.

"You know that Seth told Dad, right?" Maya finally offered, losing the bratty edge in her voice.

"Seth told him what?"

The teenager sucked in a deep breath, narrowing her eyes at Mattie. "He finally… He came out. To Dad. And it didn't go well."

Mattie nodded slowly. The siblings were close even if they were four years apart, and if Patrick's reaction to Seth's admission wasn't favorable, then it was perfectly plausible that Maya would rebel in support of her older brother. Patrick, despite his wishy-washy feel good books and TV appearances, was rather strict in his private life. His children went to the best schools, dressed to the nines and in public, had meticulous manners. They were his legacies after all, and if one of them wasn't living up to his expectations, then… Shit. In weighing and measuring all the potential reasons for Maya's sudden appearance, this hadn't been one Mattie considered.

Now, the next morning, while she watched Tig snore, Mattie still hadn't figured out to actually deal with the situation at hand. She'd thought that moving across the country meant that she wouldn't have to worry about Patrick's staunch opinions anymore. Now he was threatening her new, barely fleshed out life and there wasn't anything that she could do about it. And that was the worst bit.

Mattie… wasn't good at solving problems. Or maybe she was, she didn't know, but the tough ones, the ones she couldn't immediately untangle- she always ran from. Going to New York City was a taped-together solution to her difficulties with Tig. When loneliness in the big city got the best of her, she leapt straight back to California. Following Donna's death, Mattie had gone directly to San Diego. So yes, on one hand, she understood Maya's split second decision to flee. On the other… she didn't know.

Maya was just following Mattie's example. Tig had more or less declared that particular idea last night before they finally collapsed in bed, and she couldn't help believing that he was right. He didn't know Patrick though, didn't know what he could be like when somebody disagreed with him. Seth probably took the brunt of his father's disapproval and the rest was dumped onto Maya, and the girl, not knowing what else to do, left, knowing that it'd drive her father crazy.

Patrick always did have a little bit of a control issue.

Tig rolled over when his alarm finally went off, nuzzling into her side despite the clock's bleating. His touch reminded Mattie of all the things that'd gone undone last night and it made her thighs ache. Kind of hard to fit in a morning quickie with a teenager across the hall. At least Moby, when he was staying with Mattie, slept like a rock. Maya, well, she would probably know what the source of the moaning coming through the walls was. With Tig, Mattie had a problem being quiet.

"I had a weird dream," Tig moaned when Mattie reached over him to switch off the clock's beeping, "A really weird dream."

"If it was about a fifteen-year-old girl showing up on the porch in the middle of night, sorry baby, that's our unfortunate reality." She said sadly.

Tigger grinned. "Shit, I was trying to forget about that."  
>"Me too."<p>

"You can't, you're the responsible one."

"Don't remind me."

Tig stretched, his long body dominating most of the mattress. He'd gotten pretty accustomed to sleeping like a starfish, which meant that Mattie got a tiny corner of the bed, but this was one moment where she didn't mind. Having him around lent her an extra bit of strength to handle what was on her plate. Support wasn't something that she'd expected when Tig started to call her house home, but it was definitely appreciated.

"When do you get back from your run?" Mattie asked quietly, trying not to let her uneasiness filter through.

Tigger, of course, noticed, despite his sleepiness. "Sometime tomorrow, I think. Staying overnight with another charter. So, before you know it, I'm gonna collect on that promise of _dessert_. Just gotta get rid of that kid first."

"I have a feeling that'll be easier said than done."

He shrugged. "You'll get her to agree. You're persuasive. Shit, put me under your spell when you were just seventeen. And you're twenty-eight now, think about how your powers have improved with age."

"Calling me old," Mattie began, swinging her leg up and over Tig's lap so that she straddled him, "Is just about the best way to ruin my generous mood."

"And the worst?"

She started to speak as the bedroom door opened, Maya walking in without even pretending to knock. Yeah, that definitely killed the acute case of horniness Mattie'd been wrestling all night.

"Oh shit, sorry. Didn't know you two were knocking boots. Don't let me ruin your fun." Maya observed wryly, "Though this is a whole side of you that I've never seen, Matilda."

"Go downstairs." Mattie replied, irritation filtering past the grogginess in her voice, "I'll be there in a second."

"Take your time. I'll try and turn the TV up real loud."

Once Maya clomped down the staircase, Mattie fell against Tig's chest. Her embarrassment just magnified his rumble of laughter and her growing sexual frustration.

"Gotta say, that was definitely less awkward than when the Prince walked in on us last week."

"Well, your pants were around your ankles and my skirt was up by my armpits, so it was pretty obvious that you and I were in the midst of things." Mattie retorted, rolling to his side, "Plus, there was the whole thing about him marching us back into the clubhouse like we were a couple of horny teenagers."

"We _are _basically horny teenagers," Tig countered, "Give or take a couple years."

"You fucking love it."

"Never said I didn't."

Mattie smiled, glad for bit of lightness before dealing with the bulk of the day. She had to talk to Maya about Patrick, instilling the fact that he might try and use his influence against both of them. There was also a cake to be baked, not to mention that Mattie needed to head to the Target in Stockton to pick up some last minute favors for Moby's party. And entertain a teenager at the same time.

How did Gemma manage to keep her husband and child in line, take care of everything at the club and run TM's office? Seemingly without effort too.

"Y'know, the shower's real big. Big enough for two." Tig said suggestively as Mattie mulled things over.

"Don't tempt me."

"No slick, quick, soapy sex?"

"Tig-ger." Mattie whined. "She's going to go back to New York City and tell her father what a slut I am, and that asshole is going to write about it in his next book."

"Would that really be such a terrible thing?" He tsked loudly. "I guess you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to fuck me, girl scout. Your loss."

With that declaration, Tig whipped off his boxer shorts, tossed them in Mattie's direction and strode into the bathroom in just his t-shirt. She wanted to call after and remind him what an asshole he was… but that required more energy than it was worth. So she just pulled down the rarely used robe hanging on the back of her door and meandered downstairs to the kitchen in order to put on a pot of coffee. Her Saturday was going to require a lot of caffeine.

Maya was in the living room with MTV turned up loudly, cuddled next to Willow on the couch. The dog didn't seem to mind her newest companion as much as Mattie did, and she wondered whether that made her a bad person. Shouldn't she want to help Maya? Yes, and in a way she did, but it would've been nice to be let in on her ex-stepdaughter's plan to run to California and away from her father. That way Mattie's life was upset the least, and she'd already have devised a way to deal with the situation. She worked best with her moves mapped far in advance. Spontaneity, unless it was emotionally motivated, was never her strong suit.

The coffee pot was already on when Mattie approached it, java hissing and dribbling as it brewed. And three mugs were out on the counter. Maybe it was Maya's way of apologizing for the night before. Mattie smiled without thinking, glad for one less task on her to-do list.

"You don't have hazelnut, but I think I can survive," Maya said, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, "But I'm kind of jonesing for a bathroom."

"Shit, sorry. Mine upstairs is occupied, but if you head down through that door into the basement and hang a quick left, that one is definitely free."

"Thanks."

The teenager left then, leaving Mattie alone in the main floor of her house. Saturday mornings were not normally so frantic, and not really ever spent in her home. Usually it was her and Tig sleeping off a Friday night party in his dorm, waking up around noon and then completing separate chores. He'd throw in a load of laundry and catch up on sports; Mattie would head down to the market to refill her pantry. Weekends were easy and lazy, so it was taking a moment before Mattie could truly comprehend the sort of tasks she needed to get finished.

How had prepping for Moby's sixth birthday party turned into willing herself to call her ex-husband in order to discuss his runaway daughter?

* * *

><p>Maya Muldoon listened the two of them from her spot in Matilda's living room- she kept telling Maya to call her Mattie, but it hadn't stuck just yet- wondering what the hell her mild mannered ex-stepmother had gotten into in the near year since she left New York. Whoever Tig was, he certainly was nothing like her father, and seemingly, nothing like Matilda- Mattie!- either. The woman who made dinner in between studying for exams, who braided Maya's hair in the mornings and then walked with her and Seth to school. Well, before her mother decided that boarding school in fucking New Hampshire was a better choice for her daughter. Seth was about to enter college then, so he was luckily exempt from that particular decision.<p>

No, the woman in the kitchen was decidedly not Maya's ex-stepmother, and the teenager wanted to know where she'd gone. This woman cursed. She wore shorts that showed off legs Maya hadn't known existed and t-shirts with a V deep enough to share cleavage. Her new boyfriend drove a motorcycle, dressed in leather and carried a gun. To say that Maya's father would not have approved of Matilda's lifestyle was just the tip of the iceberg. If he knew that Maya was here with this new-fangled woman… There would be serious shit to pay.

And this town… What the hell? There was one measly street lined with mom and pop stores, no sign of a Starbucks or Au Bon Pain for miles. How could Matilda live in this place? How could anybody?

At least, Maya conceded with the TV remote in her hand, her ex-stepmother had sprung for decent cable. Probably wasn't anything better to do in Charming. She'd comment on the irony of that name, but she was still wondering why the hell she'd made the trip in the first place.

She swore that somewhere along the line, it'd made sense to go to California. After Seth called her in tears, telling her about all the awful shit their father said to him, all the threats he'd levied in order to get his son to obey… There was no thinking. Only action. Revenge and sheer hatred propelling the choice to buy a plane ticket- the most expensive one-way she could find, paid for with her father's credit card. If her dad thought he could disown one child because of his sexuality, then he was going to lose them both. And if he wanted Maya back then he was going to have to hunt her down, because she wasn't going to make it easy.

Maybe it hadn't been right to pull Matilda into it. Maya thought that involving her would really piss her father off, and she'd been right. He'd only threatened to arrest Matilda for kidnapping. Nothing major.

Her dad liked control. He liked to be the one pulling strings and setting course. That'd included Matilda when she lived in New York, and Maya watched her father decide what dress she'd wear to his fancy dinners or which classes she should take next semester. Shit, he'd even chosen which practice she'd work in once she was done with Columbia, and like everybody else, Matilda just went along with it. Fighting the inevitable was worse than giving up independence.

So when Matilda left without allowing him to fully discuss and discourage the ramifications of her decision… Patrick Muldoon was livid. Between paying his barely-married ex-wife alimony and admitting publicly that his relationship had failed, he considered the whole thing a personal slight. Which made Charming, California such a perfect destination for Maya's protest. Drive the knife of both departures a little deeper.

She'd found the address in a set of her father's papers for his lawyer, amongst copies of their divorce filings. It'd gone too smoothly, which made Maya suspicious. Matilda must have some sort of leverage against her father to have avoided any legal bumps.

And if Maya's plan for retribution was going to work, she needed to figure out what Matilda knew. Use it to her own advantage.

But something about this town had changed her stepmother. Ex-stepmother, to be precise, not that anybody every really used the original title. She and Maya's father were only married on paper, perpetually planning the actual event. How many times did he force the two girls to go wedding dress shopping? They'd never actually bought anything despite the best attempts of persuasive salespeople over the years. Though Maya had a feeling that the woman standing just inside the kitchen didn't let herself get intimidated into doing anything she didn't want do.

Matilda had found just about the worst opportunity to grow a backbone. There was no way that Maya could trick her into revealing the secret that quieted her father, and certainly not before he made the trip to California. Self-preservation, Maya considered with a silent sigh, was amongst Matilda's most irritating new traits.

The two adults were making more noise, collecting things as they moved through the kitchen. Were they going to leave Maya to her own devices? No, Matilda was still wearing pajamas- loose boxers and a man's shirt, both probably belonging to her boyfriend- but Tig had on that same leather vest littered with patches. Good to know that the psychopath wasn't going to be spending the day with them.

"You sure you don't want me to wait?" He asked, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his hooked nose, even though he was still inside the house.

"No, it's okay. I'll just use your pickup and grab my car tomorrow or Monday."

"If you're sure…"

"Positive." Matilda walked him to the front door, seemingly oblivious to Maya's presence. "Have a good run, okay?"

"I will, baby. Make sure the kid doesn't drive you crazy." Tig cast a look to Maya, to which the teenager responded with a roll of her eyes and a shrug, "And tell Moby happy birthday."

"Be careful for me, please?"

"Of course." Another glance at Maya, then a not so subtle drop in his voice. "You better keep an eye out too. Keep carrying, okay?"

Carrying what?

"I took your spare and put in my purse." Matilda put a hand on Tig's cheek. "I'll be okay."

That didn't answer Maya's question.

"I know."

"You better get to the club before you're late, Tigger."

"Love you."

"I love you too." Matilda echoed, watching him walk down to his bike. Once the motor roared, she shut the door again, locking it.

Maya looked up at her ex-stepmother, wondering why she wore such an embarrassed grin underneath sad eyes. It only lasted for a second before being replaced with an easy sort of authority, another phenomenon she'd never seen in Matilda before.

"We've got to get a couple things done before we call your father. Gives us time to figure out how to move forward with this." Mattie said, crossing her arms over her chest, daring Maya to protest.

"I'm not going back." Maya retorted anyway.

"And I'm not going to get accused of things I'm not guilty of by stepping into this feud. It's not my responsibility to broker peace." She put a hand through her hair. "Go downstairs, take a shower, and then we'll head out. You bring a change of clothes?"

"Yeah."

"Then get to it, kiddo."

And with that, Maya begrudgingly shut off the television and headed down into the basement bathroom. By Matilda's tone, she could tell that her ex-stepmother already had some sort of plan in her head.

Now all Maya had to do was figure out what that was and whether or not it suited her.

* * *

><p>"No offense, but with all the clothes Dad bought you over the years, I really thought you'd be putting on the ritz." Maya commented as they wandered through the aisles in Stockton's Target, gathering supplies for the party tomorrow.<p>

Mattie really hoped she'd have a way to occupy her new teenaged houseguest by then.

"Honey, you see the town I live in. Do you actually think some of the things in my closet are appropriate for Charming?" She inquired idly, trying to choose between fire truck red and ocean blue for the napkins.

"Guess not. You do kind of live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere." Maya retorted scathingly.

"Charming is… a little old school compared to where you're from, I guess."

"A little old school? Shit, I feel like I've traveled back in time fifty goddamn years."

Mattie chuckled. She'd sounded similar back when she was fifteen, and she'd grown up in the small town. Back then her first concern had been getting out, getting anywhere but Charming as quickly and painlessly as possible. Now… it was just about settling back in.

And getting interrupted all the time, she thought, glancing at Maya. If it wasn't one thing- her best friend getting murdered- or another- being stalked by a gang of Neo-Nazi bastards- it was the sudden intrusion of a life left behind a whole coast away. The universe had decided somewhere along the line that Mattie's existence would never land on the same smooth path as everybody else's. Hers hit every single bump along the road and kept changing lanes so quickly that she didn't have time to process every navigational debacle.

Compartmentalize for later had been Mattie's mantra for longer than she liked to admit.

"Weird question," Maya said suddenly, "I meant to ask before but didn't get the chance."

"Shoot."

"What's the deal with your boyfriend? I didn't think gun toting madman was really your type." She paused. "Or anybody's, for that matter."

Mattie grinned inwardly. She knew that Maya had been bristling with that question since the moment the two of them met last night. After all, it was a pretty big leap from seemingly straight-laced Patrick to unpredictable Tig, but it was more cyclical than Maya knew. It was really Tig-Patrick-Tig and not just Patrick-Tig, but that was a lot more explaining than it was actually worth.

Plus, Mattie was only two years older than Maya when she fell for Tigger and that was just… Embarrassing? No, more like unfathomable to an outsider. Chibs still didn't understand the bond between her and Tig, and he'd been trying to wrap his head around it since the moment she came back to town. Although there were other matters getting in the way of his comprehension, not that Mattie really wanted to dwell on them.

What had Tig said to him last night? Stay away? Don't bother? It hadn't led to fighting. Nothing more than a series of taut expressions that represented an unspoken argument. Did Chibs tell Tigger about the conversation he and Mattie had during that repo not too long ago? No, that wasn't right, if he had, Tig would've said something to her. Not in passing either, another confrontation that would've made her uncomfortable, a discussion about the boundaries she was laying down with other people. So what was it?

Mattie had an inkling, though she did not really want to indulge it.

She'd felt Chibs eyes as she leaned over that customer's car. It was a position she was trapped in, her ass in the air, her head underneath the hood of the Honda. No ladylike way to disguise herself, no way to minimize the way her shorts were riding up as she worked. And he just kept staring. She caught him in the act once she was finished, her hazel eyes connecting directly to his brown ones, a long, daring gaze that he didn't flinch from.

_What are you gonna do about it?_ He seemed to wordlessly ask, standing unflappable amongst the group of mechanics moving about in the garage. _Gonna tell on me?_

No. She wasn't going to, and she didn't, but couldn't Chibs be a little more cautious? Mattie did the right thing, told him how the situation was going to work- either he dealt with his feelings or they couldn't associate anymore. Not with Tig's suspicions that sometimes weren't completely unwarranted. Chibs liked to play games where he got Mattie alone, liked to trap her with turns of phrase that turned into battles of sexual innuendos. He always wanted to see how far he could push.

Mattie had said her part and made her intentions clear. But could she really hold up her end of the bargain when Chibs kept pressing her into a corner? When he was so goddamn obvious about his feelings for her that _Opie_ asked the hell was going on? If Opie, who was still completely wound up in his grief, noticed that Chibs' behavior was out of place, then maybe the Scot really did need a warning from Tig. Because Mattie wasn't going to be the only one dealing with the repercussions of Tig's jealousy. Not anymore. Not when she wasn't stoking that particular fire.

So maybe it didn't matter what kind of words Chibs and Tigger exchanged when she wasn't around. As long as they were said and understood. That's all Mattie could ask for. A small reprieve from a whole host of life's deficiencies she already needed to deal with.

Mattie wryly answered Maya's question with one of her own, "Why are you so concerned with my relationship?"

"I'm not _concerned_. More like confused."

"I don't know what to tell you, kiddo. Tig's just… Tig." It was as close to an honest reply as she could muster.

"That's very informative. What? You move here on a whim and decide to look for the guy that's least like Daddy? Guess what, Matilda, you really knocked that one out of the park." Maya trilled drolly, tossing a bottle of bright orange nail polish into the cart without bothering to ask.

The kid certainly was ballsy. Mattie had to give her that.

"I didn't move here on a whim. I grew up in Charming."

"Oh god, you poor thing. What'd you do for fun on the weekends? Skip rocks?"

Get drunk or stoned with Jax and Opie. Fuck a man nearly twenty years her senior. Y'know, the usual. "It's not as bad as you think."

"I'm pretty sure it's as bad as I think, and if not, definitely worse. And you still haven't answered my questions about Tig, which, by the way, is a dumb name."

Fifteen-year-olds say the darnedest things. And they should be eternally grateful that the dumb-named were not around to hear them.

"The only question you asked was what's the deal with me and Tig, and that's way too broad a topic to approach without definition. And too personal. Just because you want to know something doesn't mean you're going to find out." Mattie explained, checking her shopping list once again. She was still missing construction paper and crayons.

"Fine. How did you meet?"

Oh-kay. How would Mattie edit that to suit young ears? _I was just a kid- literally- and he was one of my father's brothers- figuratively. _Or: _I was seventeen and drunk, he was thirty-something and sober, and we just clicked from there_. Nope. That didn't work either. Saturday's to-do list rewritten: calling Patrick priority number two, dodging this conversation moved to first.

"We've known each other a long time." Diplomatic. Simple.

And not to Maya's liking. "Ugh, so vague."

"Don't like the answers, stop asking the questions."

"No way. Just getting started."

"Maya." Mattie groaned, "I'm not discussing this with you. If you think you'll hear a satisfying response, you're sadly mistaken."

"It's not an interview, it's just a… questionnaire." Maya flourished with a grin as a vanilla scented body butter found its place amongst plastic cutlery. Not only was the girl trying her patience, but draining her wallet too.

"Just so you're aware, every item on this 'questionnaire' is putting you one step closer back to school in New Hampshire and your father in New York."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Okay. I'll stop. But you have to promise that you won't send me back. You have to. Until he stops treating Seth like shit, I'm not going to have anything to do with my father."

"Does Seth know that you're here?"

A too-long moment of silence. "No."

"Does even know you're protesting in his favor?"

Quiet again. "No."

"Well, then, don't you think you should've taken this up with your brother instead of running to me out of the blue? I can't fight your battles, kiddo. Just because I'm not your father's favorite person doesn't mean you can use that fact against him."

Mattie caught the guilt all over Maya's face then, the fifteen-year-old going from precocious to crestfallen in a matter of seconds. Did she really believe that she could pit Mattie and Patrick against each other? Mattie didn't really have a dog in their particular fight, and didn't appreciate being used just for warfare. Or having her life intruded upon without warning, for that matter.

Did she encourage Maya's support for her brother? Of course. Patrick was being an asshole and deserved to know that his child wasn't going to put up with it anymore, but Maya didn't have to take her dissatisfaction in the direction she did. Why not go to her mother? Surely Maria didn't care that her son was gay, and she had no love lost for Patrick. That made sense.

What didn't, however, were all the questions that Maya kept asking about Mattie and Patrick's divorce. Did it go smoothly? Was she happy about the results? Did her father try and make things difficult? Why not? One that'd particularly unsettled Mattie in the barrage of queries, though: _Don't you think it's strange that Daddy just gave up and let you leave? Don't you think it's weird that he didn't try and fuck up the divorce filings? _

Mattie had said something about the fact that she was a lawyer and Patrick knew better than to play games, but knew Maya was hinting at something bigger. She wanted to know how her ex-stepmother became her ex-stepmother without any real effort at all.

The answer to that one was easy. Mattie had leverage, and Patrick knew it. She wasn't going to tell Maya that, however, no matter how hard the girl tried to shake it out of her. She'd never been the kind of person to cave easily, and if Tig couldn't manage it, there was no way that a teenager would succeed.

At that moment, Mattie realized that whatever was going on between Patrick and Maya was much deeper than how he reacted to Seth coming out. After all, Matt was the queen when it came to despising a parent. The resentment still scorched and it began when she was much, much younger than Maya. So Mattie did understand what it was like to be let down by somebody who was supposed to love you. More than anybody. But Maya didn't know that. She didn't come to Mattie for support; she came to her for ammo.

And as much as she cared for the teenager- once upon a time, Mattie'd almost been like a surrogate parent- she simply wasn't going to give any fuel for her fire. Especially when Mattie knew that all Maya's manipulative ways were learned from Patrick. She might not be happy with her father right now, but she definitely fought like him.

Suffice it say, though, no teenager had the capacity to brawl like Mattie did. Physically, verbally, psychologically… Matt had Maya beat in every which way. Blame it on the club. Blame it on Book. Blame it on Gemma. Bobby. Tig. Reese. There was a reason that Mattie had the upper hand at the end of her relationship with Patrick- six years of strategically picking her battles.

Book taught her that the world beyond the gates of the clubhouse had to be handled methodically and critically, and that advice was exactly what got her out of New York City mostly intact.

Maya wasn't the only one who could use her upbringing to her own advantage.

"You two are going to sort it out. Because you can't stay here. But I think you realized that the moment you set foot on Californian soil." Mattie finally said once they'd finished at the register, the two of them walking out into the parking lot. "Right?"

"It's not fair. It's not fair that he can just treat Seth like that."

"I know it isn't. But you're not proving your point by leaving school and acting like a brat. Just making things worse for everybody." She sighed, "And to be honest, I know terrible parents, and your dad is… not the worst."

Maya scoffed. "Sure seems like it."

Mattie didn't reply to that. She didn't need to prove her point to Maya, telling her all the shitty things Reese had done in the past twenty-eight years. It wouldn't change the teenager's mind. She remembered being fifteen. Life's inconveniences were always impassable obstacles until the next one came.

Hell, she still kind of felt that way.

"So, you're really not going to try and reason with him?" Maya asked dejectedly as they started their ride back to Charming. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet since Mattie told her how things were going to be.

"What do you think?"

A too-loud sigh. "Fine. I dunno why you're being so unhelpful."

"What do you want me to do, Maya? You want me to tell him that he's an idiot, that he's going to alienate both his children? And even if I did tell him that, do you actually believe that he'd listen?" Mattie's temper flared, just enough to continue her rant, "I lived with him for six years and not once did he ever consider my opinion on anything. You know that better than anybody. Even if I did speak with him on your behalf, he'd just ignore me."

"How'd I get stuck with such an asshole?"

"Sweetheart, I know you won't believe me, but it can be much, much worse. Just be thankful that your father is still interested in getting you back home." She murmured quietly. Patrick might be antagonistic, but that somehow was not as wounding as Reese's simple indifference. To Mattie, at least. Maya would probably disagree.

Once they got home, Mattie unloaded the car and Maya paced back and forth through the living room. She'd connected her iPod to the stereo, ear bursting pop music pumping through the speakers. Not really to Mattie's taste, but she'd let the teenager think things out for a little while before turning down the volume. Maya's flawed plan had finally gone bust and Matt didn't want to rub salt in that wound before it'd scabbed over.

The oven was preheating for Moby's birthday cake when Mattie somehow heard the trill of her cell phone through the din of overproduced noise in the other room. Probably Patrick again, but it didn't hurt to check. Tig wouldn't call in the middle of the run, especially one that Mattie suspected was a lot less charity ride and a lot more criminal. Book tried to hide a lot from his daughter back in the day, but as he always said, she was pretty good at taking A and B and making them equal C. And in the context of the club, C was usually something illegal.

Which was why it was especially unsettling to see Bobby's number lighting the screen of her iPhone. They'd only set out on the run a couple hours ago. That meant something'd gone very wrong very quickly to merit a call- especially one to her. Who, then? Jax? Opie? Surely, not… No.

Trying not to overanalyze before she had all the appropriate information, Mattie's fingers swiped at the screen. Her hands were still steady but the digits had lost all dexterity. Was this was Tig felt like when Hirsch swept into town? Or when Weston became a threat? Shit, she'd really have to stop giving him such a hard time about trying to protect her.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby." Mattie greeted lightly, knowing that it'd take a more brutal hit to shake her verbal composure.

"Matt? How are you on this fine afternoon?" Bobby was trying too hard to keep the mirth in his reply.

Shit.

"Don't play that game with me. Just tell me what happened." She bit out, glancing towards the living room to make sure that Maya was still occupied. An ill-timed intrusion was the last thing she needed.

"Goddamn, kid, you sound just like Gemma." He chuckled awkwardly, "Well, I guess you should know that we've had a little bit of an accident. Just a minor one."

"How minor?" She demanded too quickly, cursing herself in the process. No reason to get worked up. Not yet.

"Tig sort of, ehhh… Ran off the road. Some scrapes, fucked his leg a tad. Nothing too serious."

"Which hospital?" Mattie's voice held despite her silent sight of relief. There was more to the story, Tig's riding was a kind of controlled recklessness. The only time he'd ever wiped out had ended quite badly- Mattie didn't like to dwell on Annie and their baby- and he'd never made that same mistake again.

"Er, yeah, about that. Gonna ask a weird question, don't know if you'll know the answer."

"Shoot."

"Do you know… if Tiggy has any outstanding warrants?"

And that was how the phone call to Patrick was once again relegated to priority number two that Saturday.

* * *

><p>The nurse had already said something about putting Tig in restraints if he didn't stop trying to get out of bed, to which he'd slurred something appropriately perverse in response. Between the tequila and the adrenaline he was disproportionately jittery and exhausted, content and intense. The pain killers weren't doing much either, but they were a substance that he'd abused the shit out of over the years, so he'd already been counting on the reverberating protest in his upper thigh.<p>

Until a vision in a tight pair of jeans and a cleavage baring tank top wandered into his room- really a glorified corner sectioned off with curtains- arms crossed over her chest, head tilted dangerously.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Mattie asked, but he knew there wasn't any wrath behind her rhetorical question. "Had me scared shitless."

She softened then, resting her hand on top of his. The left one. In the stark light of the hospital he could easily make out all the uneven valleys between her knuckles, evidence of a long ago fight she couldn't walk away from. He remembered how she'd walked into the clubhouse a few days later, just a teenager, raising her pink-casted hand triumphantly in the air. A battle scar, Tig thought, knowing that the drugs were making him contemplative. And just a little bit nostalgic.

"You were worried about _me_? I wasn't the one who had to deal with the hormonal monster all day. Where is she, anyway? Back to the shithole she came from?"

"Waiting room. Too busy making moon eyes at one of the poor medical techs to cause trouble." Mattie grinned and sank into one of the plastic chairs next to his bed. "Had Maya almost ready to speak to her father before your injuries interrupted."

Tig didn't know Patrick. He'd had Juice do a cursory background check on him once upon a time, but it was full of bullshit that he hadn't bothered to sort through. So all the details he'd learned about the man he'd gotten from Mattie, analyzed through whatever bits of information she felt like handing out. Controlling, highly opinionated, unwilling to compromise. Qualities that weren't so bad in certain situations and personalities, but the fact that they were hidden by a golden boy public persona skewed whatever positive connotation they could have.

Dominating. That was what Mattie had said last night, a little quiver on the end of the single word.

And once he'd heard that fucking voicemail, he was ready to throw the idiot in a shallow grave. Didn't matter that Patrick was in New York. All Tig had to do was tell Clay that somebody needed to be dealt with and the Pres would give him permission. Especially if he added that it was something personal.

Threats directed at Mattie were generally Tig's fault, a demon wandering from his world into hers. He knew how to handle those. He knew how to protect her from a rogue meth dealer or an eager member of the AB. A psychologically antagonistic asshole from a part of Mattie's life in which she'd effectively abandoned Tig? Yeah… He had no idea. He'd thought about getting Piney to keep an eye on her, but there was no way that the alcoholic bastard would be really all that helpful.

Maybe taking that tumble wasn't the worst thing that could've happened.

"So the rugrat's going back to New York? No problems?" Tig raised an eyebrow when Mattie rolled her eyes in response.

"The fuck if I know. She's fighting to stay, but she has no real reason to."

"Moby is one thing. I don't mind having that kid in my house. But her? No way. We are not doing it."

Tig leveled his gaze at Mattie, to make sure that she saw his seriousness. She didn't have to take in every stray that crossed her path, especially those that were unappreciative brats. All parents did shit that pissed off their children. He both had and was a shitty father. Mattie had a fucked up mother. Maya's problem wasn't special. Kid had every privilege in life and wasn't grateful for any of it.

That's why Tig was unsympathetic. All Maya had to do was stick it out for a couple more years and then she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Didn't have to deal with her father ever again. Instead she'd split from school and tried to convince Matt to fight in a war that wasn't hers. And he knew that whatever Mattie did would never be enough. If Maya stayed in Charming, Tig would have to watch the little bitch run Mattie ragged- and that wasn't going to happen. He'd drive her to the airport himself. Even call David fucking Hale and report her as a runaway.

Whatever Tig had to do in order to tear that piece of Mattie's life out by the root, he would.

Because people could say what they wanted about his relationship, they could judge it any way they goddamn wanted, but he'd never been so fucking devious with Mattie. He'd never tried to get inside her head and rewire it like Patrick had. Seven months ago, an alien came back to Charming wearing her skin, and Tig hadn't really understood why. Meeting Patrick's demon spawn put a few things into perspective. Hearing Mattie talk about New York colored a few more details. It'd been a shitty six years for her too.

A shitty six years that Tig knew he caused. It was his fault that she ran to New York.

That was a pretty fucking awful thought.

"No. She's not the kind of family I want." Mattie murmured quietly before quirking a smile. "I might just stay at the club tonight and let her have free reign of the house. It'll be quieter."

"Just get her back to where she belongs. As quickly as possible." Tig groaned theatrically. "I'm still massively horny."

Mattie laughed, erasing some of the sleepiness from her features. "And now I might just have an idea on how to scare her back to school."

"Please, share." He smirked suggestively just as another nurse walked in. His and Mattie's timing lately couldn't have been more off.

Turned out to be a long day, and a longer night. Took forever for the hospital to release him, but Mattie waited by his bedside. Maya had eventually drifted into the room and was sitting uncomfortably in one of the chairs against the walls, getting in the way of incoming nurses and techs. Probably the only thing the kid was good for, he'd thought during a particularly prickly moment in between painkillers. Mattie was napping, her head propped against the railing of the bed.

Without thinking, Tig pulled one of her curls loose, swirling the soft wave around his finger. Maya stared at this, eyes narrowed and unblinking. She'd been silent since the moment Mattie fell asleep and Tig was glad for that.

Mattie might've only been seventeen when they'd first started… whatever they started, but she'd been leagues and bounds ahead of Maya when it came to maturity. At seventeen, Mattie had the composure of a thirty-year-old and the patience of a saint. Still did.

Shit, he was glad that she came back to Charming.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, first off: THAT PREMIERE! I won't spoil anything- I don't want to ruin the fifth season for anybody that has to wait for the premiere- but I will say that I am not a crier, but I legit bawled for some of that shit. Soooooo excited for the rest of the season. And nervous. Now, back to business. Opinions were split pretty much down the middle, so I made the executive decision to keep going with the present plot so I could finish the second part of the flashback in order to post them back to back when the time came. With new episodes airing my muse has been running 24/7, so I'm going to try and keep the quicker posts coming. Anyhow, thanks for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	39. Chapter 39

_Well, did she make you cry?_

_Make you break down?_

_Shatter your illusions of love?_

_And is it over now?_

_Do you know how?_

_Pick up the pieces and go home_

_Gold Dust Woman – Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

><p>Patrick Muldoon didn't have to set foot in Charming, California to know it was a worthless town full of worthless people who were content to abandon any dreams they might've once had to live pointless, boring lives. No impact upon the world, nothing to contribute. An anonymous population shopping at no-name stores, working blue-collar jobs. Suburbia was a dead end, he'd once declared to his ex-wife Maria when she wanted to move outside New York City, a place where happy people went empty.<p>

Patrick hadn't wanted to come here. It was a trip which rendered two whole days of his week completely useless. Appointments cancelled, sessions rescheduled, talk show slots unattended. His daughter threw a ridiculous, rebellious teenage fit, and he was suddenly expected to drop everything and run to claim her.

_If you don't come here, Daddy, then I can't guarantee I'll make it to that plane back to New York. I could end up just about anywhere, telling anybody just about anything. Mattie's told me a lot of interesting stories since I've arrived._

It was for that last statement alone he had his assistant book him a trip to San Francisco, where he'd needed to rent a car and make the almost two hour drive to Charming. Patrick was furious with Matilda- _Mattie_ was nobody he knew- for filling Maya's ears with ilk, and he needed to do his own damage control to find out exactly what had been said.

Dr. Patrick Muldoon might be a respectable man, but this didn't mean he wasn't a dangerous one as well.

Matilda obviously wasn't the woman he'd met six years ago. Patrick spotted the brunette during his week of guest lecturing at Berkeley and knew he had to have her. Quiet and beautiful, obedient and impressionable, and best of all, completely broken. He didn't know how or why, and really, didn't even care. Upon meeting her- a compelling invitation to enjoy a cup of coffee with a distinguished psychiatrist- Patrick realized Matilda was exactly what he'd been looking for. The opposite of his headstrong ex-wife: innocent and malleable, willing to do anything he'd ask of her. Wear this dress and look pretty on his arm. Smile and say something intelligent to his professional peers. Read this recipe and recreate it for dinner guests. He invited her to live his posh life in exchange for being precisely what he needed her to be, and like he predicted, she accepted.

Patrick sent her to law school because he could see where having a lawyer within close reach would be useful. And it was easy to brag about- _this is my fiancé, Matilda, an associate at Smythe, Cavanaugh and Walter_- even if he needed to use his own connections to get her in such a prestigious firm. Worth it, though. He wanted a trophy wife to beat out all other trophy wives, to add to his stack of success. Brilliant, bestselling author Dr. Patrick Muldoon, with his son studying pre-med at Yale, his daughter finishing up at the esteemed Welsh Preparatory, and a smart, elegant lawyer fiancé. Picture of perfection. The kind of life other people envied.

It'd been amazing, and then Matilda approached him with the news she was leaving, and no, there wasn't anything he could about it. A few weeks of clean up and she was gone. Like an idiot, Patrick assumed she'd found out he was having an affair- successful men had mistresses, no matter how ideal their women at home were- and confessed, promised to be better for her, but she'd just held up a hand and refused. She didn't even know he'd cheated, and apathetically declared she didn't 'give a shit if he was fucking somebody else'.

If he hadn't said anything, Matilda never would've had any cannon fodder. He wouldn't have owed her a single dime, but he'd opened her mouth and his aggravatingly clever fiancé- technically his _wife_, but the sheet of paper they'd signed was for logistical reasons, and in his opinion, negligible- did some research and unearthed a few secrets he'd believed were well buried.

Matilda didn't even confront him. No question, no demands, just walked into his office one afternoon with a self-assured smile and presented him with a paper listing her findings. A paper filled with information that could destroy him any manner of ways. Patrick he looked up and it wasn't Matilda, his docile companion, but some diabolical bitch with a victorious glint in her eyes.

She had only one thing to say.

"I'm taking the dog with me." Voice lowered to nefarious depths, arms crossed over her chest. Daring him to protest.

After that, she turned on her heel and strode confidently out of the room, Patrick's blood running cold. Humiliated and terrified, he gave her far beyond what she'd asked for during the divorce proceedings, offering a hefty alimony check. He had no problem paying her to be silent. What he did take issue with was Matilda going back on their unspoken agreement.

He could make her silent in all matter of forceful ways- or rather, a well-compensated accomplice, because Dr. Patrick Muldoon was too fine a name to tarnish with blood on his hands.

First, he had to find out if Maya's decision to run away had any connection to what Matilda knew about him.

Her home was much as Patrick expected, two stories of faded brick with a modest yard, a gas guzzling silver pickup in the short driveway. As for the Mercedes he paid for, it was conspicuously absent, and he hoped it was locked in garage, away from the vandals and criminals who likely inhabited this town. Patrick parked on the street, not caring if some distracted driver side swept the rented Taurus.

Matilda answered the door, eyebrows furrowed. She was obviously not expecting him. Good. For once, the element of surprise was on his side.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking on the welfare of my daughter." He replied, smirking.

She had the door propped open to speak with him, and he realized she wasn't going to invite him in without a little help. All he did was- literally- put his foot in the door, to prove he wouldn't be deterred by her frosty reception.

"Don't you fucking _dare_, Patrick." Matilda lowered her voice. "This is private property."

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

A groan sounded from behind her, low-throated and masculine. Well. Matilda certainly moved on quickly. The man made his appearance known, tall and threatening with his hooked nose and nasty expression. Lean, tattooed arms flexed, ringed fingers hostilely cracking knuckles as narrowed eyes an unsettling shade of ice blue slowly appraised Patrick. A half grin and an amused snort, and Patrick got his answer.

"By all means, let the asshole in."

Matilda turned back to have a quick, silent conversation, the two of them coming to an easy agreement. When she faced Patrick again, gone were any reservations he'd observed earlier. In the mystery man she'd found confidence, and Patrick knew he'd need to regain control in whatever way possible.

"Alright." She said dubiously, motioning for him to come inside.

The house was miniscule, much, much smaller than his loft in New York. Decorated for comfort and not style, a leather sofa here, a fleece throw there. Pictures hanging on the walls and a piano sitting in the corner of the living room. Two full bookshelves in opposite corners and a clutter of children's drawings and crayons on the coffee table. Perhaps Matilda was running an illegal daycare out of her home. Wouldn't it be nice to see the naïve fiancé making blackmail-worthy mistakes?

Patrick glanced over to Matilda, standing close to her mystery man, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Outwardly, she looked the same, with some minor differences, hair in its natural curls- he preferred it blown out straight, made her look more polished- nails unadorned, minimal jewelry. Wearing designer jeans he'd bought for her, tight and dark, with a dark purple tank top, which didn't quite cover up all her horrid tattoos. He saw them when she turned to relock the door, bright and offensive on her back, the idiotic letters on her left wrist uncovered. Unfortunately, Matilda's affinity to shove ink underneath her skin was one Patrick never weaned.

"Where's Maya?" He asked, watching the mystery man touch Matilda's behind. How classless.

"Upstairs, sleeping. Taking a nap before her redeye later tonight." She paused. "Again, I feel the need to ask what you're doing here."

"Checking in." Patrick kept his words chipper. "Who's your friend, Matilda?"

"Tig." The man snarled, keeping still at Matilda's side. Patrick had the feeling this Tig was very short tempered.

"It's very nice to meet you, Tig." He didn't accept Patrick's handshake. "How do you know my Matilda?"

"She's not _yours_, asshole. Not by a fucking long shot." His grip tightened on Matilda's shoulder, and Patrick internally smiled. Just a little more pressure and he'd have Tig reduced to nothing but easily handed brute force. Matilda would lose her shield and he'd be free to find out what verbal poison she spread.

"Have you seen our engagement ring? It's spectacular, you know. Three-carat princess cut diamond in a platinum setting, purchased from Tiffany's. Cost a pretty penny, Tig." Patrick purposely let the information sink in. "You know, I never did get that ring back, Matilda."

"If you really want it, I can go and get it. I have no problems returning the ring or anything else you might need." Matilda placed her index finger over her lips, pretending to think. "Actually, I have some papers you might be interested in as well. I can go fetch those if you'd like."

Stupid bitch. "No, no, no, I insist you keep the ring. A gift from me to you, to remind you of the good times we had together." And how much money he'd wasted on her only to receive nothing in return.

Patrick didn't like to default on his investments.

* * *

><p>Initially, Mattie was shocked to see Patrick on her doorstep, looking all cool and calculated in a crisp slate suit, blonde hair combed to one side, designer glasses almost concealing his ill intentions. He wouldn't come all the way to Charming unless Maya advocated the trip, if she made up some slanderous lie to make him interrupt his busy schedule. Or maybe it was all Patrick's plan, to send his daughter in order to determine whether Mattie aired his dirty laundry, catching her giving confidential information to the teenager. She hadn't. She hadn't said a word of what she'd found to anybody besides Tig, who didn't even know the whole story. The basics but not the details, and fortunately for Patrick, it was the details which were the most damning.<p>

Patrick obviously wanted to talk. He wanted the confrontation he'd never gotten in New York, to regain the dominance he'd lost. Patrick wasn't a man accustomed to losing, and she knew he might be willing to do just about anything to pull out a victory. He wouldn't lay a hand on her or threaten to kill her, but she'd seen the sort of clandestine violence of which he was capable. Tig might be an outright murderer, but Patrick's maniacal darkness was much more chilling.

Tig was supposed to head to the club soon to meet his brothers returning from the run, and he'd tugged her inside the kitchen to discuss what the fuck was happening without Patrick monitoring the conversation. No, her ex-husband was behind the closed dining room door, predictably sitting in a chair at the head of the table. Mattie wasn't in the mood for his head games.

When the doorbell rang, she'd assumed it was Gemma dropping by to check on Tig and his leg. A welcome guest. But instead of the Queen stood Patrick, a man whom Tigger despised without even meeting him. It was for that reason he'd subtly tucked a gun into the waistband of her jeans, an addition which went undetected by Patrick. Cold metal pinned against the base of Mattie's spine, easily accessible in case her ex-husband took too far a detour from his false politeness.

"I'm not going to leave him here with you." Tig's voice was dangerously low. "It's not going to happen."

"You've got church in fifteen minutes."

"I'll call and say you're in trouble and the whole fucking club will show up on our doorstep. If that doesn't make the asshole leave, then I don't know what will."

Mattie leaned up against the counter, her hip digging into the blunt granite. She didn't want to be alone with Patrick either, but she also didn't want her ex to think she was _afraid_ of being alone with him. Plus, she was sure Patrick wouldn't go away until he found what he was looking for- because he wouldn't come cross country just to harass her- and he wouldn't begin searching with Tig looming.

"If he can't get what he wants, he'll be back. It's just better to get this over with." She reached out to place her palm against his chest. "He's not going to do anything stupid. I promise you."

"And if he does? If you're wrong?" He shook his head. "No. _No_."

"Tigger." Mattie sighed. "You're going to be late."

"I'm not fucking leaving you alone. What don't you understand about that, Matt? I'm not going to let him lay a single goddamn hand on you. I'll kill him first."

"And have another investigation lead straight back to the club? No. Patrick isn't some asshole in the crosshairs of the Sons. He leads a very public life, and if he disappears, there will be serious shit to pay." Mattie looked into his eyes. "If I'm not at the club in an hour, come home and check on me. But I'm telling you, he'll leave the moment he's satisfied I haven't smeared his reputation."

He took a deep breath, jaw clenched tight. An agreement he wasn't happy with, but he had less than ten minutes to get to the club before church began. Closed his eyes briefly and strode into the dining room, looking murderous.

"You get an hour. Do you understand me? One hour and if you're still here I'll put a fucking hollow point in your skull." Tig crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer.

"As long as Matilda is cooperative, I have no qualms with this arrangement." One half of Patrick's mouth quirked, "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

Tig smiled in that wide, unhinged way of his. "Good. Because I'm going to take Maya with me, and if you're still in my house at the end of the hour, I can't guarantee her safety. However, if you're finished here in a timely manner, you're more than welcome to come and collect her from my club."

Patrick's face faltered. The upper hand had come and gone. "No, I don't think-"

"No. You _didn't_ think, coming here unannounced. If you did, if you knew exactly what I'm capable of, what Matt's capable of," Tig sighed for effect, "You would've stayed in New York. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab your daughter and head out."

"She won't go with you."

"Yes, she will. Maya isn't napping upstairs, she's high as a fucking kite. Didn't you wonder why she didn't come down here the moment she heard her precious daddy's voice?"

Maya, knowing she had to go back to Patrick whether she liked it or not, tried to sabotage the situation by stuffing herself full of Valium, a prescription she'd written for herself from a pad she'd stolen from Patrick. Blissfully whacked out in the guest bedroom, she'd answered all of Mattie's questions that morning. The real reason she'd left school: she'd gotten kicked out when administration found a cornucopia of drugs in her dorm. The real reason she'd come to Mattie: well, it was still the same, to simply piss Patrick off. And to figure out what Matt knew about him that was so damaging, because the teenager wanted to use it against her father when he found out about her expulsion.

Mattie hadn't said anything to Maya, but judging by Patrick's sudden willingness to make a trip all the way to Charming, she must've said something to him which made him believe Matt had started talking behind his back. Selfish, lying bitch. Mattie shouldn't have let Maya in the front door when they discovered her on Friday night. But whatever dominance Maya and Patrick had over the situation was gone, Mattie and Tig firmly in control.

Just Mattie once she heard the pickup pull out of the driveway. Tig's Harley was at TM, awaiting repairs from the damage Bobby caused, but she supposed the Ford was a better choice anyhow, since he wouldn't have to worry about keeping a wasted girl steady on the back of his bike.

The house was absolutely silent when Patrick spoke.

"Who is he?"

"Who? Tig?"

"Yes. The man who is obviously living with you not nine months after you left me. The man who must've left this ring inside our loft sometime before then."

Patrick tossed something across the table, and she easily caught the skidding gold. An ornate _A_ decorating the square face, her name etched on the inside of the band. Christ. She didn't think Tig had even kept the thing. He'd bought it sentimentally after she told him she was pregnant- the A was not for himself, but for their son, Alex- and she always assumed he'd thrown it away when she lost the baby, for this was the first time she'd seen it since.

Mattie had to bite the inside of her cheek to fight the prickle of tears. Patrick didn't know about any of it, the meaning of the ring or the loss it represented, but it was an emotional blow she didn't expect. Shit. Struggling to retain her composure, Mattie leveled her gaze at Patrick.

"So? Maybe it's just a keepsake I forgot when I packed."

"Doubtful. You brought nothing from your life before New York into the apartment. All of it was boxed up in a storage unit upstate." He raised an eyebrow. "And yes, I know about the storage unit. Always did."

She shrugged. "That's fine." Now, at least. Before she left, Mattie would've been scrambling to explain herself, wondering how much he'd seen of her private life. She never wanted Patrick to know anything about her time in Charming, not because he'd judge her, but because it was _hers_ and she was absurdly territorial about it.

"You knew Tig before coming to New York." A statement filled with an unaired question.

"Yes." Mattie liked that he was sitting while she stood, leveraging the conversation in her favor. A rookie mistake for somebody like Patrick, so she kept a vigilant watch, expecting him to pull out another surprise.

"You must've been very young."

"Don't play that game with me. I'm not the one who fucked his daughter's best friend." This wasn't even the worst of what he'd done. Not even close. But Patrick had no idea just how far Mattie's depth of knowledge really went.

Patrick brushed her off. "In New York, the age of consent is seventeen. You should know that."

"I know, I'm just pointing out what a shitty father you are. And before you ask, Maya doesn't know you've slept with Bianca."

"Very reassuring." Patrick cocked his head to the side. "You can keep that ring too, by the way."

She'd already tucked it inside her pocket. "Might as well get to the point, Patrick. You've only got forty-five minutes to tell me why you're here."

"Or what? You'll have your brutish friend kill me? We both know that isn't a very practical solution to our problem." Patrick reclined in his seat. "Let's not forget, I'm a very… _influential_ man, Matilda. With a little charm and a lot of money, I can convince just about anybody to do anything."

The threat was obvious. Patrick would never dirty his own hands, but contracting somebody to do the job for him, well, it'd be simple. Which was why Mattie wasn't worried about being alone with him. And she wasn't worried about his little warning, either.

"You really believe you've got the upper hand, don't you?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Is that some sort of trick question?"

"No. But you do realize you're in Charming, right? Which automatically skews this in my favor."

He'd resent that. He was so convinced of her own profound uniqueness, of all the qualities which made him more special than anybody else, the idea of a level playing field would profoundly unsettle him. Which was why he came to Mattie in the first place, to be sure she knew exactly as much as he wanted her to about his secrets, and nothing more. Then he'd be back in his position of power, still far superior to the backwards girl he'd rescued so long ago.

"False confidence does not become you." Patrick smiled softly. "To think I once loved you."

Mattie'd been a liar for twenty-eight years. She knew how to bend her own inflections and map her expressions. She knew how to keep track of her lies, to limit herself to only the most logical untruths. She knew how to untangle herself when she was caught in one. She knew how to clean up after herself. And most of all, Mattie knew how to pick out another liar.

Patrick never loved her. She could see it now. The emotionless way the words left his lips, taut and over rehearsed. When she made the decision to leave, he never argued, never protested, before she ever found any of his dirty secrets. At the time, Mattie believed his apathy shielded a broken heart- it was how she would've handled things- but now, she realized she'd been wrong. Patrick cared more about appearances than their actual relationship; explaining her departure to his friends, informing avid readers his fiancé left him. No, indeed not heartbreak. Self absorbed embarrassment.

Mattie left Tig for six years. She left him for a painfully obvious lie, the promise of man who'd take care of her without destroying her. At twenty-one, she'd been so _fucking_ stupid. Patrick never wanted Mattie, not specifically, he wanted somebody he could mold and command, and he'd found it in her. Unwittingly, she let him turn her into somebody else. In New York, Mattie was no longer herself but whatever Patrick needed her to be, an actress performing everyday life.

She lost six years for a lie. And Patrick was going to fucking pay for it.

"Don't try and sell me that bullshit. You want to know whether I told Maya about any of the awful shit you did? You want to know whether I told her the truth about who her father is? _No_. I kept my word. She doesn't know, and she never will, unless you tell her or she finds out on her own." Mattie declared. Patrick's time would soon run out, and while she wouldn't feel guilty if his brains were scattered across her dining room, it was the cleanup she wasn't looking forward to.

Patrick shook his head. "I'm not even sure if you have anything damning. After all, the list you presented me with was just a list of vague charges. No evidence, no proof. How can I be sure you're not bluffing?"

"If it was so _vague_, why'd you offer me alimony? I didn't ask for it. All I wanted," Mattie strategically stopped speaking to tuck a curl behind her ear, "Was for you to know, I knew."

"And that's not blackmail? Accusing me of tax evasion in black and white, pointing out my affairs with typeface. Why else could you have possibly required that information?"

"In case you made things difficult. I wanted to get out of New York as quickly as possible and I was showing you I had the tools to do it." She'd dug into Patrick's secrets as a precaution, not preparation. "I just wanted out. Not to destroy you or your reputation. I could care less about that."

"What did you tell Maya?"

Persistent asshole. "Fuck you."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She'd already answered his question, the question he'd actually asked, not the one he implied. She didn't respond to his smoothly worded demands or his subtle threats, couldn't be bullied by his cyclical interrogation. Patrick might ask about Maya's familiarity with his offenses, but he really needed to determine whether or not Mattie discovered all his secrets. Because the taxes he hadn't paid or the patients he'd slept with, the passages in his books which were pure fiction, it wasn't the worst.

He hadn't even hid his crimes all that well. His computers at home and work weren't encrypted and the passwords were all the same- _Inishowen_, the peninsula in Ireland where he'd grown up. Mattie downloaded the information she needed onto a jump drive, leaving dummy files in place of what she took. And anything in hard copy was easy to access as well; she just needed to pick the lock on the filing cabinet in his office while he was out. As with the digital files, she kept the originals and left copies in their place, knowing Patrick wouldn't be eager to look upon his forged financial reports.

"Do you _really_ want to see what I have?" Mattie looked into his grey eyes, conveying just how serious she considered his request.

"Yes. I want to see if all the concessions I've made were actually worth it." No, Patrick wanted to see if he needed to do some serious clean up.

"How much?"

"How much do you have?"

"All of it." Her response was instant. No hesitation, no doubt, just the truth. And she loved how Patrick's mouth pulled into a tight, straight line.

"Prove it."

She shrugged, holding up her hands in mock defeat. He'd believe her body language, think he'd finally come out with some sort of victory, but in reality, he was fucked. Let him believe in a lie for just a little longer, while she trekked down to the basement, rotating the dial on the safe until it popped open. Out of two full, unmarked folders she took one, and between the choices of three thumb drives, the largest, the thirty-two gig, was clutched inside her palm. Mattie made her last selection from Tig's collection of knives, a tidy switchblade tucked into her pocket for good measure. Just in case bullets didn't intimidate Patrick.

He was still seated in the dining room, patiently watching her pick up the Macbook from the desk in the living room. Her supplies complete, Mattie organized them on the table, sorting through papers with a practiced hand, knowing exactly which condemning information was where. First, she slid Patrick a copy of his financials, full of income he hadn't reported to the government.

"There. Those consultant fees are under the table, if I'm not mistaken, because your tax returns from last year make no mention of them." Mattie politely extended another packet to her ex-husband. "Or the year before, or the year before that. I could keep going down the line but I don't wish to delve into redundancy."

"So? Plenty of celebrities are guilty of tax evasion." Patrick implied he was one of these celebrities. _Right_.

"And they get slammed just like everyone else."

Done with the initial shocking reveal, she thrust the drive into the USB port, carefully clicking until the appropriate folder popped open, Mattie turning up the volume and turning the screen in Patrick's direction. Wails of pleasure filled the room, female moans and male grunting, the shot far off, but Patrick's face and naked ass still apparent.

"I can arrange a different showing, if you'd like. I've got a lot more of these cute little videos." Mattie paused the image, Patrick mid-thrust as a woman bit his shoulder.

"No, thank you. This was quite sufficient." Gone was any trace of conquest. Patrick already knew he lost.

"Now, I know it technically isn't illegal for a doctor to have sex with a patient, but you can still get your medical license taken away. To quote the code of medical ethics from the American Medical Association," Mattie read from a printout, "'Sexual contact that occurs concurrent with the physician–patient relationship constitutes sexual misconduct.' And since you're a member of the AMA, I'm sure you're quite aware of this."

"Yes." Hissed through gritted teeth. "Are you finished?"

"No. I am not." She still had the worst of it.

Mattie opened her folder again, sliding over a photograph of a young woman. Pretty with cropped black hair, toothy grin, waif-like figure. Smiling broadly for the camera, her arms around an older couple, the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center standing brightly behind the trio.

"Do you remember Kate Martin?" An innocent but loaded question.

His voice didn't falter, but he blanched. "No."

"Okay. I understand that. When she came to you, she signed in as," Mattie referred to the file, "Meg Ryan. Which you obviously knew was a false name. In the spring of 2006 you began treating her for depression. Her parents own a PR firm and wanted their daughter to see the very best."

"I treat many people suffering with-"

"No. Most of your clients are bored housewives looking to fuck a famous doctor. But Kate was different. She actually wanted help. I can show you footage from some of her early sessions if you'd like. Before you tried to seduce her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Patrick knew exactly what he'd done and he was going to lie straight to Mattie's face. Too bad she wouldn't be so easily sidetracked.

"She came to you, a sad, broken girl and you took advantage of her. You told her she was beautiful and you grazed your hand up her thigh, you told her she was the most gorgeous woman you'd ever seen and you could make her feel better, if she'd just let you. You promised you'd take care of her. You looked into her eyes and said everything would be alright. And when Kate finally gave in, after weeks of wearing her down-"

"Stop."

"After weeks of wearing her down, she finally slept with you. Again and again, until you tricked her into falling in love with you. And why wouldn't she? Patrick Muldoon, author and doctor, always on those afternoon talk shows, charming and handsome. Those soft, soothing words in your barely-there accent, she believed all of them. Kate told you how she felt and you said you reciprocated, you said she was amazing and you couldn't imagine your life without her.

"For a year, you saw each other. But then, last fall, she told you she was pregnant. Wasn't it so great, this child created out of a precious, forbidden love? You'd leave me and take care of her, make this perfect family. But you got cold feet, Patrick. Explained you could no longer be Kate's psychiatrist, referred her to one of your colleagues, pushed her out the door without so much as a goodbye. You were scrambling to distance yourself from your mistake. Because you were a celebrity, because you couldn't have people thinking you weren't the great man they thought you were."

Mattie understood infidelity. She understood being the public face of a relationship while another party skulked behind her back. This wasn't what she found so abhorrent about Patrick's secret. It was what came next which made her regret the six numb years she spent in New York.

"I never knew for sure if it was mine." Patrick stared into the wood grain of the table. This wasn't what he'd come to California for.

"Doesn't matter."

Mattie offered the final piece of her tale, another photograph. Larger than the snapshot, printed on heavy paper. A formerly pristine bathroom, floor decorated with shattered glass. A broken vase of red roses. The wreckage was not the focus, no, the camera hovered over the lifeless body in the bathtub, water stained crimson. Kate Martin lying with her wrists slashed, dead far too long to save the baby in her bloated belly. On the wall, written in blood across white tile: _I loved you, Sham._

"Kate called you her shamrock. That's all any of her friends ever knew about you, Patrick. A nickname said with a beaming smile. Police ruled it a suicide, but you and I know who the real killer is."

Patrick glared at Mattie. "She chose to take her own life."

"Only after you abandoned her. You promised her love and gave her nothing but excuses. You knew she was depressed, you knew she wasn't taking her medication because she was pregnant. You knew this was a possibility and yet you did nothing to stop it because then you would've had to admit to sleeping with a patient. It meant losing any credibility you ever had."

No response. No denial, no acceptance. Just silence. When he finally spoke, it was just a barely audible request for clarification.

"Where did you get this photo?"

"The police. I had a friend on the force. She helped me whenever I needed to dig up something on a client's spouse." Mattie placed the picture back into the folder, prying it from Patrick's grasp.

His gaze was murderous. Hands clenched, eyes narrowed, muscles jumping underneath his tanned skin. Now he knew what Mattie had on him, he'd seen it and touched it and listened to her explain her knowledge in great detail. Worse than what she'd shown him in New York, comprehensive and organized, his misdeeds supported not just on paper but video. Video he'd taken with the webcam on his office computer, to watch when he was bored.

Mattie didn't know about Kate when she first strode into Patrick's office, throwing her accusations at him. It was later she discovered Kate's story, while coordinating paperwork for the divorce, getting things in order for her attorney in case Patrick wanted to pull a fast one. When Mattie originally watched Kate's footage, she skipped over most of it, figuring her to just another one of Patrick's seductions, but she'd been proven wrong. Kate was the only patient who seemed to be getting worse as the sessions progressed, and Mattie wanted to know why she'd sobbed through her last meeting with Patrick.

Part of Mattie still didn't want to believe what she found. Patrick wound Kate under his spell just like he did Mattie. And Kate also found out too late he never cared, the emotional beating too much for her handle. All her life Mattie lived with killers, men who murdered to keep mouths shut and cover tracks, but none of them were as bad as Patrick. Patrick, who used women to get what he wanted and then threw them away when he could no longer control them. When they threatened to ruin his perfect little world. His needs were selfish and many, and while he might not have killed Kate himself, her blood was on his hands. Patrick would never admit it. Not like the Sons who took responsibility for death, wearing the patches on their cuts to prove it.

Mattie fell in love with two murderers. One who never loved her back, the other who never stopped.

"Now, you know," Mattie finally sat in the chair next to him, "_Exactly_ what I know."

"Yes." His tone was dark.

Patrick was obviously capable of anything. Kate's death made no impact on him, not emotionally. He didn't care if she'd committed suicide, only that it had the possibility to blow back on him. Forget about her dead child, _his_ dead child. Nothing. No sadness or mourning, only self-interested regret. Mattie couldn't believe she'd ever made the mistake of falling for this sociopath. She couldn't believe she left Charming for _him_.

Mattie took Tig's gun from her waistband, enjoying its metallic weight inside her palm. Patrick gave it a wide look, and she knew then he had no idea she'd been carrying the weapon. Good.

"Just in case you're thinking about taking care of me, you should know I have a contingency plan in place." She flicked the safety off. "You could go ahead and destroy the contents of this folder, decimate this jump drive, hell, you could burn this house to the fucking ground, and you still wouldn't have annihilated all the evidence. I've got copies and copies and copies, stored in places you wouldn't ever to think to look."

"Why should I believe you?"

Mattie grinned. "Because I'm worth more alive than dead. Leave me alone and none of this will ever leak. Nobody will ever know about you and Kate. Kill me and this shit goes _wide_. And if I do die suspiciously, it'll lead straight back to you, Patrick."

"How can I be sure you won't open your mouth?"

"Trust, I suppose."

"Not enough."

She shrugged dismissively. "It has to be."

Patrick stared at her a beat more, making his decision. "I want the folder and the drive. As a guarantee."

"Fine. But everything in there is just a copy."

"I don't care. Stupid bitch-"

"I wouldn't finish that thought if I were you. Like I said before, you're in Charming. Never know what could happen in a place like this."

Patrick was pissed. He'd lost. Lost to the woman who'd escaped his grasp, who was no longer affected by his influence. And he had nobody but himself to blame.

"This isn't the end of this."

"If that's how you'd like to proceed, that's fine. But just know, if you ever come back here without a reason, if you ever try to intimidate me ever again, I will not hesitate to kill you." Mattie leveraged the Glock at his chest. "I promise you, Patrick."

The door opened then, crashing loudly into the wall, Tig and Bobby storming into the house with their guns drawn. Guess she'd gone over the hour mark.

She let the two of them escort Patrick to his car.

Hopefully, it'd be the very last time she ever laid eyes on him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So… This chapter totally didn't exist before. I was going to post the two flashbacks and then jump to the next piece of the story, and then I re-read things and decided Mattie should have a chance to confront Patrick. Hopefully it wasn't overly dramatic or ridiculous. And this season still has me nervous. Am I the only who wakes up on Tuesday morning anxious as hell? But back to business. I promise, no, guarantee, the next two chapters will definitely be flashbacks. One's already written, the other I still have to write. Anyway, thank you for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	40. Chapter 40

_This town's the oldest friend of mine_

_Get up and we get down_

_We're always running round this town_

_And to think I said_

_We'd never make anything better than this_

_'Cause we're always in small circles_

_And everyone thinks we're trouble_

_The Look - Metronomy_

* * *

><p>Tig walked in the front door of the Cardinal house without knocking, mostly because that was the one small privilege Book had afforded him in the few weeks since their talk. <em>I don't care if you come over, but don't make me look like a fool, Tigger. You wouldn't like that<em>. No. Tig didn't think he would, so he'd been treading as carefully as possible in the older man's presence. He felt like a goddamn teenager meeting his date's dad for the first time, and sad part was that he was closer to Book's age than Mattie's.

"What message do you have for our young graduate, Mr. Trager?" Bobby directed a camcorder in Tig's direction. "Some words of wisdom, perhaps?"

"Get that outta my face, Bobby."

"Why? From what I've heard, and unfortunately seen, you're not camera shy." A long time ago, some regrettable decisions led to making a sex tape with one of the croweaters, who'd been proud enough of the cinematic excellence to show it around the club.

Book walked into the room, almost unrecognizable in a pair of khakis and a crisp white shirt underneath his cut. Even his ginger hair had been cut and then combed neatly back. Wow. Tig was a little impressed. He'd always thought that Mattie got her good looks from Reese, but maybe he'd been wrong.

"You clean up nice." Tig considered a wolf whistle, and then figured it might not be the most appropriate accompaniment to his comment.

"You too, Tigger." Book searched through a basket on the coffee table before turning back to him. "The kid should be ready in a little bit."

"Come on, guys. I'm looking for some excitement here. Tell me Gemma didn't put me on camera duty for nothing." Bobby chimed in.

"Sorry, Francis Ford Coppola, I've got to find my sunglasses before I go down to the high school and I can't fucking remember where I put my nice pair." Book shot back at his brother-in-law. Tig took note of his bad mood.

Probably had something to do with the fact that today was June 17th, which meant that tomorrow was June 18th, and that made it Mattie's eighteenth. A day Tig had been counting down to for months, fucking salivating over, and now that everyone knew about him and Matt, it was painfully obvious what tomorrow's plans were. Book hadn't tried to interfere with the inevitable, but Tig was still nervous about any potential detours.

Because he had some stuff set up, and he'd really like to take advantage of it.

"Daddy!" Tig grinned the moment her voice hit his ears. Stupid goddamn reaction. "Can you call Tigger because I've tried to get through to him a million times and I don't want to be late and I have to change when I get to school and- Oh."

Mattie did that annoying thing where she smiled and bit her lip at the same time, which always turned him into walking, talking perversion. Christ, Tig loved and hated what she did to him. "Right here, baby."

It wasn't hard to miss the, 'oh, Christ," Book uttered from the other side of the room, but Mattie rolled her eyes and stepped in to give Tig a kiss on the cheek. "Sorry. I've just gotta grab my bag and I'm ready to go."

"Wait! I need to capture your nerves before you go anywhere." Bobby zoomed in on Mattie's frown. "The audience will want to see the transition between childhood and adulthood."

"The audience? Who exactly are you screening this home video for, Uncle Bobby?"

"I dunno. I'm just in charge of capturing this coming of age experience." He grinned. "So do something interesting."

"I can't. If I don't make it inside the school by six, they'll lock me out and I won't be able to walk. And isn't that the whole point of this camcorder shit, anyway?" Mattie retorted before heading back down the hallway to her room.

"Jesus. Everyone's a critic." Bobby sighed, turning off the camera and setting it on the arm of the couch. "I better make sure we've got enough batteries to power this baby for the next couple hours or else Gemma will flay my ass."

Bobby walked into the kitchen; the sound of drawers being open and closed added the rustling as Book searched through the living room. Tig didn't know where those fucking sunglasses were, but Christ, he hoped Book would find them soon because the constant whispering under Book's breath was driving him crazy.

"Okay, Daddy, I'll see you later." Mattie was back in the living room, backpack tossed over one shoulder. "If you're looking for your nice sunglasses, they're in the laundry room. You left them in the pocket of your red flannel shirt last week and I almost washed them."

"_Shit_." Book hissed. "I remember you telling me that, too. You're a fucking lifesaver, baby girl. Now, get outta here before the Munson in Bobby rubs off on you and you're late."

"Love you. Meet afterwards on the soccer field like we did for Jax and Ope's graduation?" Mattie accepted the spare helmet Tig held out to her before turning back to Book, waiting for his response.

"Love you, too, kiddo. And yes, that's where we'll meet but not if you don't leave soon. Don't wanna tell all the people who hauled their ass out to the high school that they have to turn around and go back to the clubhouse because my kid couldn't make it on time." Book nodded at Tig and then motioned towards the door. The cue was clear: get Mattie out before she was distracted by something else.

Mattie scowled but followed Tig outside, her hand tucked inside his as he led her down the driveway. His bike was waiting at the very end, because he liked having an easy exit strategy should Book decide to pull out a shotgun and chase Tig off the property. Book hadn't completely accepted the idea of his daughter being involved with one of his brothers, but he'd certainly relaxed some. But he still waited until they were far out of the view of the windows in the living room before playfully pinching her ass.

Tigger couldn't help himself. Those shorts she wore were too tempting, and knowing what tomorrow would bring, he was all sorts of horny.

"Tigger." Mattie protested, before pressing a dangerously slow kiss against his mouth, the kind of greeting she couldn't offer in front of her father.

"Matt." He returned, a warning at the end of his voice. If she wasn't careful, they'd never make it up the high school and she'd ruin all of tomorrow's birthday surprises.

"'Kay. We'd better get going because I have to change when we get there." When he raised an eyebrow, she added, "Can't very well wear a dress on a bike, now can I?"

"You could, but it wouldn't be fair because I wouldn't get to see your panties when your skirt gets caught in the wind." Tig pressed one last kiss into her lips before sliding a leg over his bike, eagerly anticipating Mattie's warmth as she slipped in behind him. Arms wrapped tightly around his chest, cheek pressed against the patches of his cut, he couldn't help but let his mind drift.

Less than twenty-four hours, he'd be able to drag Mattie around in public, proudly present her as _his_. No more hiding, no more pretending, no more dreaming about what it'd be like to get her naked underneath his covers and get his hands all over her body. After tomorrow, they'd be Mattie and Tig and that…

Scared the shit out of him.

It shouldn't. But he'd been thinking about the day she'd turn eighteen for fucking _months_ and now it was starting to mess with his head. What if all this bullshit wasn't worth it? What if he fucked her and the novelty wore off? What if they had sex and Mattie decided she was better off with somebody her own age? Shit, what if he got her _pregnant_? What was he going to do with a kid having a kid? This wasn't how this was supposed to be. Being with Mattie was blissfully easy, even if he'd had to deal with everybody's judgments. Too old, too young, too innocent, too perverted, Christ, he'd heard it all in the past few weeks and had more than his share of showdowns with the little Prince. If Mattie could officially be something significant within his life, would the complications end?

Fuck it. He knew he was creating imaginary problems. He knew that he'd been looking forward to June 18th because it would make their relationship better, not worse. Mattie was already important to Tig. That came before the sex, before the two of them were even open about their feelings for the other. He _cared_ about her, for fuck's sake. When was the last time he'd felt that way about a woman? The rarity of the whole situation made him hold out a little bit of hope.

Tomorrow, they'd be Tigger _and_ Mattie, and that could be a good thing. A very good thing.

Charming High was already hopping, families milling around as students in shiny gowns- dark blue for the boys, pure white for the girls, dividing the school colors amongst the sexes- ducked camcorders held by eager parents and grandparents. None of them were wearing leather cuts, so things would get much more interesting when Bobby the cinematographer finally got his ass to the school. Jax and Opie should already have scouted a large section of the bleachers for SAMCRO though Tig was looking forward to all the sideways glares from the more traditional attendees.

Oh, this was going to be fun. He liked intimidating the suburbanites.

Mattie was waiting for something, standing by his bike- he'd illegally parked on a sidewalk, but hey, once the MC arrived wasn't like anybody else was going to use it anyway- instead of heading inside. Tig guessed he wasn't the only one dealing with a bout of anxiety.

Or he could be completely wrong.

"Mattie! Congratulations!" Somebody walked up to join their pair, and Tig wouldn't have cared if he'd half an idea of who the asshole was. He thought maybe it'd be one of the other SAMCRO babies, but no, it wasn't, and all of a sudden he was feeling very territorial.

"Thanks." Mattie nudged Tigger. "This is my music teacher, Mr. Kerry."

Nope. There was no way that Mattie had spent the whole school year with this guy and Tig didn't know about it. Mr. Kerry was one of those good looking types with big, caring brown eyes and sandy blonde hair, muscles that were too obvious underneath a tight periwinkle blue polo. Christ. This idiot would be more at home in a Sears Catalog than directing Charming High's band, and Tig certainly did not like the idea of Mattie hanging around with him.

Why did her birthday have to be _tomorrow_?

"Hi." It was more of a growl than an actual greeting, but Mr. Kerry didn't notice.

"You must be Mattie's father." Shit. Tig knew he was older than Mattie but damn, he wasn't quite old enough to have an eighteen-year-old kid. "Mattie's one of my best students."

Mattie didn't bother to contain her laughter. Glad somebody found this funny. "This isn't my dad. Mr. Kerry, this is Tig, and he's… a friend of the family." Subtly pointing out that they weren't related. Good girl.

"Oh! I'm sorry." Sure. Tig bought that bullshit apology. "Well, you should be proud anyway. Now that Mattie's graduating, I'm losing the backbone of my jazz band."

"Yeah. She's very talented."

"That's why I'm trying to convince her to be one of my assistant counselors at the music camp I organize. Good way to make money before college." Mr. Kerry flashed Mattie a golden boy smile. Tig was going to be sick.

"I don't know. I think I might be busy this summer." She tucked herself closer to Tig's side and he couldn't help but feel some sort of victory. "I've gotta get inside and finish getting ready. It was nice to see you, Mr. Kerry."

"I'd better go in and check on the younger students. They're playing the processional. I'll walk you in, like a gentlemen."

Christ, this asshole better get out of Tig's face before he lost control of his fists. He hated the way Kerry looked at his girl, eyes all wide and sparkling suggestively. Acting like he had some close personal relationship with her just because they both knew how to read music. No, there were all sorts of bad intentions implied in Kerry's glowing gaze, and Tig only knew they were there because he had his own- but they were backed by genuine affection. Kerry was just some sleaze looking to get his jollies off with a teenage girl.

Somebody, somewhere, might cite this as a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Tig didn't see it that way.

Mattie, ever the levelheaded one, just shrugged at the suggestion and gave Tig a pointed look. _This is just some pervert with the wrong idea_, her hazel eyes reported.

"And I'll see you and the rest of the _family_ later, 'kay?" Mattie got up on her tiptoes and chastely kissed Tig's cheek, her pretty lips landing too close to the corner of his mouth, before making a break for the door. Mr. Kerry lingered to cock his head in confusion.

"Guess you're really _not_ her dad, huh?"

The rumble of motorcycles filled the air. "Nope. But here he comes."

Kerry turned white. "Well, I've got to wrangle those kids up to the field. It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah."

Tig would be keeping a close eye on this asshole. First thing Monday morning, he was going to have Kozik- who'd been handling club intelligence since he arrived, though in just about the least organized way possible- take a good look at Kerry and what kinds of illegal activities he'd been up to lately. Somebody who dealt with kids all day shouldn't ogle his students- especially the ones who were attached to the mother charter's Sergeant-at-Arms and could kick his music teaching ass in a fucking heartbeat.

Mr. Kerry was officially on Tigger's shit list.

Tig followed his own processional up to the football field, though his clan wore leather and denim instead of blue and white graduation robes. Sure, there were a few people who didn't quite match the MC dress code, like Reese and George bringing up the tail or Grandpa and Bubbe Munson, who were too busy wrangling Tiki- and therefore Precious, who was likely a few martinis into the afternoon- into submission to notice the kind of company they kept. Hell, Bobby said his dad ran the books for the mob in Reno, so Tig doubted a bunch of bikers were really going to intimidate the man.

The bleachers were almost full when the Sons showed up, though Jax and Opie did a good job making sure nobody invaded the section they'd marked off with draped sweatshirts and dirty looks. Other families had air horns and signs but the Sons of Anarchy had sheer volume on their side, and even if Mattie wasn't the most popular kid in school- none of the SAMCRO babies were- she'd get the loudest reception.

Tig somehow got a seat of honor between Book and Gemma, who'd just finished describing just how far she'd stick that camcorder up Bobby's ass if he shoved it in her face again. The matriarch might've demanded that the Secretary capture the day on film, but that apparently didn't mean she wanted to be featured in any of it.

Book was all proud and fatherly, smiling broadly and joking with George- Reese was relegated to the back somewhere, and honestly, nobody could care if she came at all- while the last of the crowds filed in. Mr. Kerry's band was just beyond the ten-yard line, angled towards the field.

"You ever hear anything about Matt's music teacher?" Tig leaned over to Book, who flicked his eyes over- they were eerily identical to Mattie's- in taut suspicion.

"No. Why? Should I have?"

"Don't know. Doesn't feel right." Tig grumbled, watching Kerry tune the flute section.

"Like seeing you and my daughter together?" Okay, he deserved that.

"Haha." Tig sighed dryly. "But no. It feels non-reciprocal. Know what I mean?"

"He's pushy?"

"Kind of. It's just weird." Tig pushed a hand through his hair and shrugged. Was he making something out of nothing? Maybe Kerry was just a teacher in tune with his students. Shit.

"Shouldn't matter. Not like she's spendin' any more time in this shithole." Book gestured to the hard, utilitarian architecture of Charming High School before adding, "Right?"

"He wants her to work at some weird music camp."

"Fuck that shit." Tig knew there was a reason he went to Book for advice. "If you think something's wrong, I trust you."

"Thanks, Book."

"Hey, you wanna take care of our girl. Am I supposed to be pissed about that?" Book's rhetorical question was caught off by the band's shrill groan as they began their part of the graduation. Whoever Mr. Kerry was, he was certainly not a very effective teacher.

Once the seniors tracked onto the field, Gemma morphed from maniacal matriarch in party planning mode to proud mama, standing up in her seat and cheering before anyone had even picked Mattie out of the lineup. Jax and Opie on her other side were already whooping excitedly, their twin voices calling for their missing SAMCRO baby, mixing pleasantly with Bobby's low toned shouts. Even Bubbe Munson was clapping her hands and shouting while Tiki sat patiently in her lap.

Mattie was a cute divot between two taller boys, turning around to smile broadly as the Sons began their SAMCRO chant- it'd happened at Jax and Opie's graduation and somebody must've decided to bring it back- successfully drowning out the well wishes of the other attendees.

If somebody was confused about the true nature of the Sons of Anarchy, this was all they had to see. A family that didn't need to be united by blood to celebrate its own. Smiles and conspiratorial glances, arms full of flowers and balloons to be presented after she was officially announced as an alumni of Charming High. Everyone else might see leather and guns and burly men, but this was an outing of love, of support, and Tigger was so damn proud to be part of it all.

After _Pomp and Circumstance_ was finished and everyone was seated, the speeches from town council started and his attention waned. Hey, how many times was he supposed to listen to some nameless hack announce that this was the _best_ Charming High graduating class _ever_ before getting bored with the insincerity? He'd heard that same thing when Jax and Opie were seniors and was sure the next time one of the kids graduated, it'd be the same recycled speech.

The valedictorian was some boisterous nerd, babbling quickly about technology and pop culture and filling in the gaps with inspirational quotes. Tig wasn't sure how the idiot managed to get better grades than Mattie- or anybody else for that matter- but once the kid was finally finished, the class president stood in front of the podium, ready to announce the graduates.

It wasn't a big class, a little less than a hundred and fifty seniors, and A's and B's flew quickly by. The Sons were back on their feet, buzzing with anticipation as Carly Capra accepted her diploma and Matilda S. Cardinal rang through the ancient speakers. Sean Cash's announcement was silent beneath the shouting and whistling, the hard stomping of boots on metal bleachers and the swollen pride of Book Cardinal, who beamed heartily as Mattie waved towards her clan.

"Look at our baby!" Gemma trilled, and Tig was sure her eyes were filled with tears. "She's all grown up!"

"You did a good job, mama." Book said over Tig's shoulders, his cheeks streaked with wet tracks. Not a sign of weakness or sadness, but pure delight in watching his daughter pump her rolled diploma up in the air.

Tig didn't listen to the rest of the names. Just watched Mattie, sitting content, clapping politely as her classmates walked across the makeshift stage. Once this was over, would she remember any of them? Would they remember Mattie? Tigger's graduation was a blur of mourning and angst, less than a month after his and Annie's accident, after losing the one good thing in his nineteen-year-old world. He'd joined the military not long after that, looking for the quickest, severest way out of town.

Tig never went back. No reason. His mother died when he was only fifteen, he had no siblings, and as for his father… Fuck him. Whatever happened to Rick Trager, Tig really didn't give a shit. Bastard didn't deserve any sympathy.

Mattie would never feel that way. Charming was intertwined with her family, her childhood, and Tig was sure that no matter how far away she got, her home would always tug her back.

He just liked having her closer rather than farther.

* * *

><p>Mattie and Donna leaned against one of the closed bays of the garage, sharing a single bottle of beer- Donna's parents were coming to pick her up soon, and they'd flip if they saw her drinking. She didn't know where Jax and Opie went off to, but she'd heard an off key rendition of <em>Dude Looks Like a Lady<em> coming from somewhere and suspected they had a hand in the caterwauling. Book and Bobby were playing poker with Otto and Kozik, but she didn't have any interest in joining in, since Koz had a terrible poker face and Book usually let her win. Clay and Gemma watched Piney's horrified expression as Hobart attempted a conversation him, the older man all disgusted groans and gruff responses.

And finally, there was a tall handsome man across the yard, his too blue eyes full of illicit promises, smirking lips closed but calling Mattie over. She'd resist for now, because Donna was already put out at being just about the last person to find out about Tig, but later, Mattie would drift to his side.

Donna, always one to pick up on a mood, nudged her. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me about him."

"I told you I was sorry."

"I knew there was somebody. Just didn't think it'd be _him_." Donna's distaste for Tig was more than apparent. "Shit, I figured you and Jax were finally getting down and dirty."

"What's wrong with Tig?"

Her best friend shook her head. "Let me count the ways."

"That's not fair. You don't even know him." Mattie sighed, taking a long sip of her beer. Donna asked Mattie to justify her choices so many times in the past few weeks that she was losing track of her arguments.

"I know enough."

"Donna." It came out in a whine. "Stop it."

"When he stomps on your heart, I'll be there to fix it." A long pause. "But I still expect a long phone call at soon as you get back on Monday morning. After all that time we spent at Victoria's Secret, I better get the rundown."

Mattie couldn't help her blush. "You're awful."

"Hey, I've heard the rumors. I want to know if they're true." Donna, ever the curious one. "And I tell you all about me and Opie."

"Not because I've asked."

"Asshole."

Matt didn't respond, just shrugged. The day'd gone on too long, been too full of things to do, but her party was a welcome respite from all the activity. Gemma went out of her way to plan it, inviting Mattie's grandparents and aunts and uncles, making sure that George was in attendance without Reese. Everything went off without a hitch, from the food to the drink to the timing- it was close to midnight and most of Mattie's non-MC family had gone home, and the absence of judgmental eyes meant she could unwind with liquor and a joint.

She was relaxed; content even, that hard jumble of nerves inside her belly gone for the moment. Tomorrow- which began in twelve minutes if the glowing clock hanging the garage was to be trusted- her anxiety would resurface along with the innate fear things were going to go completely wrong.

In twelve minutes, her life was going to change.

Supposedly.

"Hey, Matt?" Donna's voice was dreamy.

"Yeah?"

"Is it serious? Or you just after one last hurrah before college?"

Mattie glanced back towards Tig, knowing that the strangely heavy mass of emotions around her heart would constrict. Yeah. She had these weird romantic feelings for Tigger, jarring twinges and this sense of effortless contentment when they were together. Because no matter what anybody thought, they worked. The reserved and the unpredictable, the psychopath and the schoolgirl. Mattie and Tig achieved a strange balance in their relationship- relationship was too hulking a word for what they had, which was looser and undefined, but still significant.

But Mattie was petrified they'd sleep together and Tig would decide once was enough, she was a nice idea but impractical in the real world.

She'd briefly voiced her fears to Opie, who'd been less than receptive to the conversation, and he'd just rolled his eyes and told her to stop fucking worrying about it. Obsessively running the odds in her head was just going to make it all worse, no matter how she added things up she couldn't predict the future or Tigger. And then Opie growled his distaste for the whole topic and ordered her to go to Donna next time she had girl problems. That was after a weirdly conspiratorial smile- Opie had always been one of Mattie's favorite counselors, and he knew it well.

"Yeah. It's serious." Mattie finally replied, just as the Lerner's station wagon pulled into the parking lot. She'd be exempt from Donna's rebuttal.

"Have fun tomorrow, Cardinal. Bring lots of birth control, because I have a feeling you're gonna need it."

"Cute, Lerner." She accepted her best friend's hug. "See you on Monday morning, okay?"

"Definitely. Love you, kid."

"Love you too, Don."

Mattie watched Donna meet Opie just out of the station wagon's realm of vision, the two of them bidding each other a PDA-filled goodbye, and she took that as a cue to rejoin the rest of the fold. The poker game had gained a few players, Jax squinting hard at his hand and Clay coolly waiting for the betting to reach him. Tig surveyed the whole thing, arms folded across his chest, surveying the game. Those blue eyes lifted upwards when Mattie approached, clouded by liquor and weed but filled with mirth.

"Gonna join us, kiddo?" Book asked over his shoulder, and she couldn't help but notice Bobby's scowl. Her uncle might've taught her how to gamble but that didn't mean he wanted to play against the talent he'd developed.

"No." Jax cut in immediately, "I'm trying to make money, not lose it."

"You weren't gonna make money anyway, Mr. Ace High." Clay pointed out, cockily raising a grey eyebrow. "If you're gonna bluff, have the common courtesy to keep your hand concealed."

Bobby chuckled. "I guess I'll up my bet, then."

"I fucking fold." Jax griped, tossing his cards to the center of the table. He'd always been a sore loser- as kids, their Candy Land games ended in either a fistfight or tears. By the time Jackson was eight and Mattie was six, JT outlawed all board games in both his home and the club because he was tired of breaking up their arguments.

"Better watch out, boys, 'cause now that my lucky charm's here I might sit down for the next hand." Tig gestured to Mattie with a jab of his elbow.

"Didn't know you were so fond of Bobby Elvis." Otto retorted with an easy smile. "How nice to watch love between brothers bloom."

"Is it fucked up that I almost wish he was talkin' about Bobby?" Book's voice was dark for a second. "Hey Elvis, I bet if you told Precious you were sleepin' with Tig, she might be blissfully speechless for a little while."

To punctuate his point, a raucous cackle echoed from a group of croweaters, where Precious held court. Mattie's aunt liked to have them at her beck and call, one of the small privileges of being the Secretary's OL.

Jax leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. A cocky pose, with his head tilted to the side. "So, Tigger, what kinda plans do you have in store for tomorrow?"

Tig, to his credit, didn't rise to the bait as much as Mattie thought he might. "Nothing you have to worry your golden head about."

"_Boys_." Clay warned, lifting a single eyebrow over his cards. "Enough."

"I'm good." Jax replied genially, smirking widely. "Real good."

The furrow in the center of his forehead declared that he was not, in fact, 'real good.' Since Tiggergate- as Mattie affectionately referred to the unveiling of their sort-of relationship- Jax had been nothing but a pain in the ass. Resentful and judgmental, disgusted by the sheer idea of the two of them together.

Jax had always been protective of Mattie, a duty assigned to him by JT, and she knew Jax's unease was brotherly and mostly benign. Didn't mean she wanted to deal with it all goddamn summer. Did she ever say a word when he was with Tara? Did she utter anything even close to an 'I told you so,' when Tara left Charming? No. Mattie just let Jax do what he wanted because she understood he was in love and nothing could change it. And while she wasn't _in love_- not yet, because she didn't even know what such a thing was even supposed to feel like- she thought she might be entitled to a little bit of ambivalence.

Because according to that clock inside the garage, Mattie officially turned eighteen three minutes ago.

"Wanna grab a drink?" A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and it took her a second to realize it was Opie.

"Sure." She replied, looking upwards at the gentle giant. He was already hammered, if she was interpreting his unsteadiness right, but it was hard to refuse his dopey grin.

"Bring me one, too? Nothing shitty." Book called after the pair as they headed towards the clubhouse. Mattie held up one hand in agreement, just as the door shut behind them.

Opie went behind the bar, expertly locating a hidden bottle of his father's tequila and two shot glasses. He might've been a club legacy, but that didn't mean he got out of prospect duty- while Jax took to the chores kicking and screaming, Opie quietly resigned to bartending and cleaning until his got his top rocker. Whatever he'd gone through didn't mean he was any easier on the current round of prospects, though.

"So." Opie stated, sliding a shot in her direction, the glass wobbling over the varnished pockmarks in the wood bar top.

"So?" She retorted, knowing it might take a second for Opie to get the point. Drunken Ope tended to ramble.

"You're old now."

"Thanks."

"No. You know what I mean." He smiled and held up his glass. "Here's to many more happy birthdays."

Mattie tossed her tequila back, the burn in the back of her throat blooming into a warm, alcoholic flush. No wonder Piney was always carrying around a bottle with him.

"Can you grab me a bottle of Heineken?" Mattie paused. "And a Budweiser for Jax."

"Gonna play nice?"

"I'm just tired of him being all over my shit, y'know? I just want him to take a deep breath and accept that whether he likes it or not, this is going to happen. Me and Tig." Mattie sighed. She hated being pulled in both directions. She loved Jax like a sibling, but there was this strange, mad, fluttering sensation in her chest when she looked at Tig. Did Jackson really want her to choose between both kinds of happiness?

"He's being an asshole just to be an asshole. Give it a second and he'll back off. Just can't play into his hand in the meantime, know what I mean?" Opie poured himself another half a shot and took a sip, thinking. "Avoid him as much as you can, don't start shit. Tig doesn't have the luxury but you do."

Even drunk Opie was full of sage advice. "Okay."

"Come on. I want to see how much Jax is down."

Mattie nodded, taking the arm Opie offered. He needed her support more than she needed his as they walked out to the parking lot, Mattie barely able to hold on to the two sweating beer bottles and his heavy, loping body. The card game was breaking up when they approached, cards tossed into the center of the table, bets being settled. Bobby looked like the night's big winner as he counted his cash, which Precious eyed from across the lot. Oh yeah, most of that money would end up in his wife's wallet, not his.

Matt handed off the Heineken to her father, who murmured his appreciation and handed her a fifty, which she thought about protesting but ultimately tucked securely into her pocket. He must've done well, or at least better than Jax and Koz, who were both glowering at the pittances they'd won- or lost, if Mattie was doing her math right. Guess luck wasn't on the blondes' side tonight.

"Hey, no hard feelings, kid." Tig said- or slurred- at Jax, even though he hadn't been involved with the game. Whether the statement was genial or meant to stoke the fire, Mattie couldn't tell, but it wrenched Jax's wrathful gaze in Tig's direction.

"Fuck you."

"Hey, I was just trying to be nice, Christ." Tig's smirk spoke otherwise. Shit. Why did he have to open his mouth?

"Yeah, I'm sure you were because you're _so_ famous for your goodwill towards your fellow man." Jax shot back, standing. One of the prospects had been called over to the collect the cards and clean up the table, and the blonde was getting out of the way. Clay had already crossed the lot to check on his wife, who was having a long discussion with Luann, which always seemed to occur when Otto's old lady was shitfaced.

"Hey, a guy can change. Here, I'll contribute a twenty towards the two hundred you lost." Tig reached into his pocket, ostentatiously opening the worn leather of his wallet.

"I don't want your goddamn charity. Why don't you go inside and fuck one of the croweaters or something? Or you wanna look all innocent and doting because Mattie's here?" Jax looked at her. "Because guess what, this asshole is _never_ going to be faithful to you. He's never gonna do anything but treat you like a whore."

"_Jackson_." Book's voice cut through Tig's growl, her father trying to be the voice of reason. "Don't."

"No."

He was too close to Tig now, too full of violent energy. Arms moving, fists closed but not clenched. About ready to pace in that Jax way, when he couldn't immediately fix a problem but desperately wanted to. Mattie hated when he got like this. She hated when he was too drunk to see what an ass he was being, but he was too indignant to stop anytime soon.

Instinctively, Book grabbed the younger man's shoulder, but Jax anticipated the movement and jumped to the left, out of reach. A punch was thrown wide, chaotic, slicing through the air and landing on nothing. Tig took a big step backwards, not because he _didn't_ want to kick Jax's ass, but because Clay already warned the two of them not to come to blows. Mattie read the subtle ticks in Tigger's jaw easily, the biting back of retaliatory aggression. He didn't like to be challenged, especially by the youngest and newest member of his club.

Tig pushed Mattie to the side, his hand grazing her hip for the briefest of moments, and Jax went _livid_.

"Don't you _touch_ her. Don't you lay a dirty fucking hand on her!" It was feral and frightening, and Jax leapt forward, off balance.

Everything happened too quickly. A swirl of activity without boundaries, without the physical separation of a boxing ring or a circle of Sons, just uncontained violence. Nobody realized just how frenzied Jax's movements were, propelled by rage but the navigation made useless by a whole night's worth of vengeful drinking.

Knuckles cracking sharply against a cheekbone, a cry of pain unleashed as skin met skin viciously and suddenly. White-hot throbs of embarrassment, seething confusion, as Mattie blankly lifted a hand to her face. Jax hit _her_. She knew he didn't mean to, not at all, his eyes all wide and jaw slack, but she was pissed and she was going to _kill him_.

She was no longer eighteen and Jax ceased to be nineteen, they were just two children, two siblings ready to beat the shit out of one another because of a difference of opinions. He might've struck the first blow and it might've been accidental but Mattie didn't care as she stalked forward, right fist curled tight. Her left still wasn't the same and she wasn't going to risk it on Jax.

"You are a _stupid_ motherfucker." She hissed at a boy who was supposed to be her brother, just as arms wrapped snug around her waist. Otto, his tattooed limbs encircling Mattie, pulling her away. No. _No_. She needed to hurt Jax like he hurt her and _no_-

Mattie knew she was irrational. She knew her anarchic thoughts were cultivated by tequila and anger, but she was so mad at Jax. This whole thing was supposed to be because he wanted to protect her, because he didn't want to watch her heart get broken though that plan didn't exactly work when he was the one breaking it. Jax, whom she'd always trusted to protect her, had socked her across the face something good because her right cheek was numb. Shit. Another hospital trip was not something she looked forward to.

Otto passed her off to Bobby, her uncle immediately investigating the injury with a jerk of heavy fingers, and Mattie had to bite her tongue to keep from whimpering. _Motherfucking Jackson Teller_.

But whatever she was thinking was trumped by the collective rage of Tig and Book, the two men exchanging a single look. _How do we handle this_? Her father nodded, resolutely stepping to the left, giving Tig permission to pursue Jax. _Your fight_, hazel eyes read, and he joined his daughter's side. This was not going to be pretty.

"If she wasn't here, I'd kick your ass all over the parking lot. Trust me, Prince." Tig growled hoarsely, voice barely audible. "She's _mine_, and if you ever lay another hand on Matt, I won't hesitate to _hurt_ you. _Mine_. Do you understand what that means?"

Jax nodded, defeated.

"Good. Now, fuck off."

There were ice packs and worried glances, her uncle's comforting words- _you coulda gotten in a decent punch if given the chance, I bet_- and Gemma's assurance that Jax's actions weren't personal. Whatever. He'd done something awful and Mattie wasn't going to forgive him so easily, no matter now many people insisted it was an accident. For some reason she always held her grudges against Jax the longest, stemming from when they were children. This was no disagreement between kids, however.

Tig pressed a lit joint to her lips, saying he'd offer something stronger but she'd been drinking all night and… He trailed then, knowing worry was filtering through his words. She understood, though, and took a deep hit.

Tomorrow, she'd have one hell of a black and blue.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, so the next chapter will be Mattie's birthday, and it will admittedly take me about a million and half years to post because I'm not real good at writing the sexytimes without serious stressing. It involves creating a playlist and getting into a headspace and- I'm boring you. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	41. Chapter 41

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment_

_And all I can breathe is your life_

_And sooner or later it's over_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

_Iris - Goo Goo Dolls_

* * *

><p>The front door opened and Mattie did her best to remain in her nonchalant position on the couch, legs folded over the arm, head propped up by a pillow and directed towards the television and not the man walking into her living room. Book was out; they'd had lunch with Bubbe at Bobby's house, after which Book promptly dropped Mattie at home before heading off. In his words, he didn't want to be privy to anything his daughter was doing with Tig this weekend.<p>

Crossed arms obscured her view of When Harry Met Sally over a lean torso, and she couldn't help trailing her gaze down the long lines of Tig's legs. Man could wear a pair of jeans like nobody's business. By his smirk when she flicked her eyes up to his face, he'd definitely noticed where her attention had gone.

"We gotta get going." He stated simply. "You packed?

"Yeah. Just let me grab my bag and I'll be all set."

Mattie wrenched herself off the sofa, ready to whisk past Tig when he caught wrist, skillfully pulling her close. Anxiety flexed inside her belly- was this where he planned to have their first round? No, though, he settled his hands on her shoulders and tilted her chin upwards. Calluses swiped the tender skin over her cheekbone, both of them hissing at the contact. Mattie in pain, Tig in… she didn't know. She couldn't precisely name his strange expression.

"Christ." He sighed, investigating the bruise. "I know he got you, but _shit_."

"It looks worse than it is." Not quite a lie. Wasn't swollen after a night of ice packs and she could speak without wincing, but any direct pressure- like Tigger's fingertips and _could he please stop touching her cheek before she screamed_- and she was forced to admit just how sore the black and blue really was.

"Don't. He's gotta be responsible for the stupid shit he does."

"I know."

His eyebrows were immediately furrowed, suspicious. He'd apparently been expecting Mattie to make excuses for her not-quite-biological brother, which she would've under other circumstances. Not when they'd spent weeks discussing why Mattie was allowed to be with whatever man she wished whether Jackson liked it or not, when she'd essentially told him to mind his own goddamn business. Last night was the last straw. Fuck his judgments. Fuck his coping mechanisms and the trouble they got him into. Mattie didn't care anymore, especially after he'd socked her across the face hard enough to leave a bruise the size of a baseball. Until she got a sincere apology- not just _I'm sorry I hit you_ but an _I'm sorry I couldn't keep my mouth shut or my opinions to myself, from this point on I will be supportive any of your decisions_- fuck him. That's it. Apathy and distance, like Opie advocated last night.

Tigger nodded, digesting her statement. She could see he didn't really believe her, but that was alright. He'd see just how serious she was when she didn't speak to Jax for the rest of the summer- the surrogate siblings were equally adverse to forgiveness.

"Come on. Let's get out of here before that asshole ruins our good moods." Mattie nudged, tugging out of his grasp.

"Yeah. You're right."

Mattie quickly went down the hall to fetch her backpack, looping it over one shoulder. She had no idea what she needed so she just packed the basics- lingerie and lingerie- hoping if she really required anything more extensive Tigger would've dropped a hint. He was hovering over the writing desk in the living room when she returned, writing a phone number on a sheet of paper, ten digits she didn't recognize.

"What're you doing?"

"Leaving a way for Book to get in touch, just in case." He replied.

"No address?" It was prying and she knew it, but she just wanted to have a hint of where they were headed.

"He'll know where we are when he sees the number. Or someone else will." Tig assured, not betraying any other information. "Ready?"

"More than." She answered, picking up her keys from the ceramic bowl on the coffee table.

After locking the front door and taking Tig's spare helmet- it wasn't really a spare in the strictest sense of the word but one he'd picked up specifically for her, though they'd silently agreed not to discuss this- Mattie tossed the nylon straps of her backpack over her shoulder. It'd been her schoolbag for four years and part of her was nostalgic at the idea, but relieved. Fuck Charming High.

"Am I settling in for a long ride?" She asked, sliding in behind him on the Harley, before it roared to life.

"Eventually." Full of innuendo, but not a true answer.

"Tigger."

"Don't worry." He turned back to look at her. "You trust me?"

Her throat clenched. It was a simple enough question with a simple enough answer: yes, of course she did. But saying the words aloud was a different matter altogether. Her brain whirled, fought for control of tongue and teeth, her heart not allowing her thoughts to influence her voice. Shit. Mattie was taking too long.

"Matilda?" Full name. Not good. "Do you trust me?"

She closed her eyes and allowed the betrayal of verbal confirmation. "Yes. Completely."

"Good. Let's go."

Her heart hammered when he pulled out of her driveway, the fingers she had locked into chest going numb. Did Tig see how scared she was? Mattie wanted this for such a long time, wanted him, but Christ, she was so fucking nervous it'd end badly. He'd fuck her once and say, thanks but no thanks, and be on his merry way. For once and for all, Tig would decide she was too young and the fallout hadn't been worth it, and then he'd move on to greener pastures while Mattie pretended it was all okay. Outwardly, she might joke about the terrible choices which led to falling for Tigger, but inwardly… Well, at least she'd be going to college in less than three months. Mattie didn't process certain things particularly well, and she was in far too deep to really believe there'd be no emotional consequences.

If Tig had any worries, he wasn't showing them. No, he was all meticulous restraint speeding down the open road. Weaving between traffic and talking, his voice mostly lost to Mattie, an occasional phrase making it to her ears. _Christ, today is gonna be good. Waited a long time for this. _His confidence made her grin but did nothing for the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

The exit he took looked familiar, a forested area surrounding both sides of the off ramp but Mattie couldn't place it. Family trips were a rarity during her childhood, and the furthest she'd ever been from Charming was San Francisco, where her grandparents took her for a week when she was nine. Trying to make up for Reese's absence, most likely. But this wasn't the route to San Fran, not even close. The streets were growing narrower, more inclined, pronounced twists Tig navigated with skill. The houses were few and far between, tiny A-frames set far back on unkempt lots. She'd spent plenty of time with Jax and Opie in the Charming backwoods, though those memories didn't help with figuring out how she knew this area.

Tig turned down a ramshackle driveway, tree branches hanging heavy over the path, blocking the bright sunlight of the late afternoon. Mattie knew this. She knew the shift between light and dark, the sound of gravel grinding underneath two wheels.

When he parked his Harley, the cobwebs between confusion and familiarity cleared and Mattie recognized the cabin. Of course. Secluded, far away enough from Charming not to attract any attention. More private than a hotel room, more special than his apartment or her bedroom.

Warm arms snaked around her middle. "You know where we are?"

"Yes." She affirmed, leaning back into him. Her father used to take her to the cabin to go hunting- otherwise known as live target practice, since any experience with a firearm was one Book used to teach a tactical lesson- and she'd holed up there with Jackson after Tara left.

"I do good?"

"Definitely."

The interior was exactly how she remembered it, wood paneling and old snapshots, military memorabilia and rifles. Masculine and slightly musty, though all the windows were open to welcome the surprisingly mild breeze. Tig must've been by earlier to make sure the cabin was in working order, since Piney tended to leave a mess between visits.

Mattie lounged inside the doorway to the kitchenette, watching Tig arrange ice in two glasses, a bottle of Jack Daniels on the Formica countertop. He was wearing one of his navy blue button downs- her favorite color on him, which she'd mentioned more than once- and a pair of jeans. Relaxed, comfortable, nothing out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, Mattie stood in front of her closet for an hour before Tig's arrival, trying to decide on an appropriate outfit. A dress was too much and impractical for a long ride, her normal uniform of jeans and a tank top too casual. Eventually she got frustrated and decided on tight denim and an off the shoulder t-shirt, lacey straps of her red bra exposed.

He handed off her whiskey with a flourish, clinking his glass against hers with a grin. "Happy birthday, baby. Happy motherfucking birthday."

"Took long enough to get here."

"You're telling me." Tig retorted, adding, "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Never be seventeen again. Okay?"

Mattie grinned. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

He nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting. Not quite a whole smile, something more contemplative, the action almost worrisome. Was he having second thoughts?

"Gotta show you something. You might not like it." Tig reached inside his cut, rummaging through one of the inside pockets. "Here. Open it."

A folded sheet of paper, wrinkled and worn, like it'd been run through the washer a few times. Mattie unfurled the loose leaf- it had to be torn out of a notebook, judging by the frayed edges on one side- raising an eyebrow when she saw what'd been drawn in bold black marker. SAMCRO. Crisp, masculine font, obviously done by someone with a skilled hand.

"I don't understand." Mattie stuttered out. Why wouldn't she like the club's acronym?

"Hap came through town a couple weeks ago on his way to SAMTAZ. He drew it up for me." Yeah, that didn't really explain anything. "I wanted to get you something for your birthday-"

"Besides your dick." She cut in, knowing he'd like her interruption.

"Yeah. Besides my dick." Tig smirked, before shrugging. "I don't know. I was thinking about replacing the _Born to Run_ CD I accidentally stepped on last time I came over. And you know I ain't gonna give you a necklace or some shit like that. Tattoo seemed like the best option."

"This is a sketch?" Mattie asked.

"Happy's gonna be by tomorrow afternoon to ink it."

Shit. "On me."

"Yeah. Ain't a crow, but shit, maybe it'll keep me from murdering a motherfucker before the summer's over."

Tattoos were… very permanent. Her father only had the reaper on his back; always saying it was so painful he'd just decided one was enough. _We're Irish, Matt, and that means we bleed like a bitch_. Thin skin aside, Mattie wasn't sure Tig had really thought this through. He very obviously said it wasn't a crow- which, at eighteen, she didn't even want- but it was _something_, something with meaning he wasn't willing to discuss.

"Tigger…" Mattie tried to hide her doubt as she searched for a response, "Alright. Okay."

"You're scared." For some reason, this made him grin broadly, "You, Matilda Scout Cardinal, are scared of an itty bitty tattoo."

She regretted telling him her middle name.

"I'm not!" Yeah, because her high pitched tone sounded so convincing.

"You _are!_ You're about to fuckme and you're scared of a _tattoo_! That is priceless!" Tig howled. Mattie scowled.

"Why should I be more afraid of you than a sharp needle?" She demanded, a little indignant.

"I'm dangerous. Violent, vengeful." His smirk softened. "Matt, I kill people. Sometimes, I kill people and I _like_ it."

Was that supposed to surprise her? She'd known what sort of a man Tig was long before they ever got involved with each other. Other children might go to preschool but at that tender age, Mattie was enrolled in SAMCRO primary, and she'd learned the ranks of the club before she knew how to spell. Sergeant-at-Arms wasn't meant to be a peaceful position. Responsible for club discipline and cleaning up violent messes- and in Tig's case, usually causing them- the role needed an equally brutal, tenacious man to fill it. She'd never met one who wasn't part psychopath or sociopath, who wasn't undyingly loyal to the Sons of Anarchy and the loved ones within the club's veil of influence.

And did Tig forget who her father was? Book killed as often as Tigger, maybe with more control and meticulous planning, but his hands weren't clean. Neither were Mattie's, to be honest. She'd shot a man not even three months ago and she felt nothing. Still. No regret, no fear of being caught, just… nothing. Maybe it was cold, maybe it was simply survival, but she was empty inside when it came to Hirsch, and that was perfectly fine with her.

"Maybe I like dangerous men." Mattie looked up at him in that way he liked, bold and yet innocent.

"Maybe that's a good thing, because I am not letting any other man get his hands on you. You're mine, Matt. All mine." Tig traced the angled line of her collarbone, possessively claiming her skin with his fingertips. "No more watching, no more waiting. I want you now, baby. _Now_."

Mattie bit her lip. "Why don't you go into bedroom and I'll meet you there in just a minute?"

"Don't take too long." He warned. Kissed her hard, predatorily, before sauntering down the hall.

She smiled to herself, picking up her backpack and heading into the bathroom. The Victoria's Secret in Lodi had been her home away from home last week, and she'd picked up enough fancy underthings to make a Playboy bunny jealous. _I think Tig would be more happy if you just walked around naked_, Donna remarked with an eye roll when the salesgirl ran Mattie up, the price beyond exorbitant. But Mattie had money saved up from babysitting and working in the office at TM, so she wasn't worried.

Plus, Mattie wanted to put on a little bit of a show, and she needed very specific items in order to make an impact.

Hips swiveling, she walked into the back bedroom. Tig sprawled upon the mattress, his cut already laid out on the back of a chair, boots and socks on the floor. When she appeared in the doorway, his head perked up and his lips curled into an abrupt, anticipatory grin.

"Oh _baby_."

"I do good?" She asked, borrowing the question he used before.

"I don't know what I was expecting… but it definitely wasn't this." Tig chuckled. "You are a bad, bad girl."

Mattie echoed his smile, delighted he appreciated her efforts. A short, plaid skirt, pleats barely covering her ass, crisp white shirt unbuttoned, tied into a knot below her bust. A sexy schoolgirl in a deep red bra and matching thong, hair tousled on her shoulders, posed just in front of the heavy wood bed frame.

"Not too much?"

"No. Christ, no. It's perfect." He sighed, before reaching out to settle his hands in the narrow of her waist. "Matt… You are fucking amazing."

Mattie's heart beat hard, and she swore to god he had to feel the utterly frantic pounding. She wasn't anxious anymore, hell no, all fluttering anticipation and eagerness. No man had spoken to her like that before, voice low and full of devotion. _You are fucking amazing._ Four words, twenty letters, with more meaning and emotional pretense than he'd ever divulged. Proof Mattie wasn't just another fuck, she was his and he was hers and this, _this_ was what they'd both been breathlessly waiting for.

Tenderly, quietly, almost hesitantly, Mattie whispered, "Make love to me?"

They'd never discussed _making love_. Fucking, having sex, addressing feral mammalian needs, sure, they'd been teasing the concepts for months. Making love was an unexpected request, and she wouldn't blame him if she glanced upwards and his blue eyes were unreceptive.

But there was warmth in those eyes. Affection. Attachment. "Yes."

Tig kissed her, lips yielding, not the steel which usually met her mouth. No longer dominating but reciprocal. No points to made or lines to be drawn, they'd reached an unspoken mutual understanding. They were together, and it worked in such an odd, unexplainable way, it was better to embrace strangeness than struggle to define the bizarre.

He was taking his time, careful to avoid that livid bruise when he cupped her cheeks. Exploring the planes of her face with first his fingertips, then his lips; nose, eyelids, jaw line mapped by his calm, sweeping movements. Completely different from the Tigger she'd thought she'd find today, half-expecting him to throw her up against the wall the moment they walked in the door.

Mattie whimpered when he lowered his mouth to her neck, tongue moist and maddening over her pulse, his gentleness belied by two sharp, matching bites on her shoulders. Marking her, red welts to proudly show off to Happy tomorrow, fading injuries for Jax to glower at when she and Tig returned Monday morning. Nothing like the permanence Tigger wanted to ink on her body, six letters which conveyed a sense of family, belonging, representing the bonds of outliers. A commitment with subtlety, not a crow, not a marriage proposal, just a tattooed link between Tig and Mattie. His idea, her skin.

She couldn't remember how to unfasten the buttons on his shirt, those little plastic circles fighting her efforts, navy blue cotton snarling at her hands. She wanted him shirtless so she could explore the masculinity of lean muscle and curling chest hair, wanted to slowly and deliciously undress him, but Tig had other ideas. Redirected her efforts, wordlessly ordering Mattie to focus on the stalwart buckle of his belt.

Concentration was impossible when he easily untied her knotted blouse- where the hell did he find the dexterity? Mattie's brain was syrupy hot sex and nothing else- pulling it down her shoulders, throwing it somewhere behind the headboard. Didn't matter. Another effortless contortion of gnarled fingers and her bra was unhooked, straps falling down her arms; an easy shake and lace met dusty floorboards.

He didn't stop moving his fingers across Mattie's flesh, cascading teeth and lips over sternum and ribs, contorting to meet waist and hips. Never reaching for her breasts, taut nipples neglected as Tig briefly rested his hooked nose in the curve of her abdomen, inhaling deeply. Whether he was simply enjoying the scent of her body lotion and jasmine perfume or this was something else, something sensual she didn't understand, she didn't know, but the pause was over before she had a chance to consider an answer.

Tig reached for the waistband of Mattie's skirt, practiced hands quickly stretching the fabric downwards. Stopped to smack a crescent of ass bared by her thong, apologizing for the slap with an equally hard squeeze. Mattie liked the sporadic deviations between Tig's worship and punishment, though she didn't have the mental capacity to put such appreciation into words.

A half-smirking appraisal just before he unceremoniously tugged her panties down, eager to get Mattie naked. He still had a mostly buttoned shirt and unbelted pants, disheveled but covered, his mysteries hidden beneath cloth and authority.

Tig pulled away then, leaving her electrified skin cold. She tingled with the want of him; the selfish need to have him pressed close.

He regarded her with a critical tilt to his head, a smile so very evident, filthy ideas brewing behind blue eyes. Mattie, nude, nervous, could only swallow her fears of inadequacy. She was bare, open, and while she trusted this man with almost anything, she didn't want to be compared to any of the other woman he'd slept with. She didn't want his mind to go anywhere else when he looked at her body. Possessively, Mattie wanted Tig to study her skin and find no comparison. She wanted to be singular, _unique_, a pinnacle in the vast timeline of his sexual conquests.

"Oh god." Tig groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Oh _god_."

She didn't know what that meant, if it was approving or critical, if she should convey how horrified his response made her feel.

"Tig?"

"Baby, I've been waiting a long goddamn time to get you naked, and shit," The break made her physically ill, "You're flawless. You're fucking _flawless _and you're mine and… Christ, that's good because I will kill to keep you and this body to myself."

Mattie swore she had a reply ready but something between her mouth and her brain didn't fire, and she could only beam at his words. A mixture of conviction and covetousness, spoken in a balmy tenor voice which melted any nerves she might've had. Fuck it. Fuck the anxiety, the scurrying negative thoughts in the back of her mind. Mattie was going to relish this moment for what it was- the first time she slept with Tig. The first time she slept with a real man.

Tig shucked his own shirt, probably figuring that Mattie wouldn't be able to manage it between her muteness and clumsiness, while she tangled with his buttoned jeans, catching the zipper with a miraculous twist of thumb and forefinger. He helped shimmy the denim down the rest of the way, kicking the pants underneath the bed. Now they were almost equal, Tig standing in a pair of plaid boxers, hands on his hips, looking proud of himself.

Mattie ran a hand down his chest, stopping when she reached the tempting trail of curls above the waistband of his underwear, investigating skin that'd been out of reach for the last nine months. Her palm just narrow enough to fit in the divot between his pecs, fingers catching the blunt outlines of scars and fainter contours of abs.

She had a curious fingertip underneath the hem of his boxers, caught between elastic and flesh, but Tig twisted one of her nipples hard enough to make her completely short circuit. Never before had Mattie truly understood the concept of pleasure through pain, not until the bizarre coil of callused pressure, nor how much she'd enjoy his roughness, evidenced by the keening cry she'd allowed past her lips. _God_. Why the fuck did it take her so long to turn eighteen?

Tig's mouth on her breasts didn't do much to sober Mattie, her words even falling apart. She swore the syllables were rational; they formed real sounds undone by his tongue and teeth. Hands and lips and saliva, nerves firing at rapid pace, warmth sopping from between her legs, and holy shit did she not know how good it could feel to be touched like this.

Mattie stroked his cock, grinning lasciviously at its hardness and the grunt Tig growled into her tits when she palmed him. No wonder her man- if he could claim her as his, then why couldn't she do the same?- was so popular with the club girls. Matt wasn't sure how she would handle them once life went back to normal, but from this point on, she was going to do whatever she could to keep him satisfied.

"You like this?" It was the first sensible thing she'd managed to speak in the last fifteen minutes, and the arch of Tig's eyebrow didn't surprise her.

"Tighter, baby." He murmured, "_Tighter_."

She obeyed, gripping him as tautly as she could- her fingers wouldn't, couldn't meet, he was too thick and judging by his triumphant moan, he knew that already- needing to utilize both her hands. Tigger bucked at her inexperienced movements, second-guessed jerks finessed depending on his reaction. Anything guttural and she was on the right track.

Tig kissed her again, pulling his mouth away from her tits, skin tracked with saliva and livid bite marks, both nipples teased into nearly aching peaks. Unceremoniously, he tossed Mattie against the mattress not long after, her back meeting rough sheets which smelled of fabric softener and cigarettes, Tigger climbing atop her, sure to place a strategic knee between her legs.

"Remember this?" He asked, slipping a single finger inside her, then two, a torturous too slow thrust.

Did she remember that afternoon in her bedroom? The small but significant promise of things to come, all signs pointing towards this day, Mattie's eighteenth birthday, pointing towards consummating a relationship which had appeared almost out of nowhere. A crush, a series of events which threatening lives and livelihoods, a connection almost as inexplicable as it was impenetrable. Arguments and fights and lies and denied truths, so much sexual frustration and goddamn waiting and finally, now, June 18th, 1998, Mattie was going to get her man.

"Oh god, _yes_." She rasped, arching upwards into the mischievous thumb hovering just above her clit. The games were going to be the death of her.

"Nope." Mattie couldn't help whining in protest as Tig retracted his hand, "Today, baby, you ain't gonna need my hand to get you off."

"Show me." A bratty demand, voiced clear enough to make Tigger smirk.

"Show you?" Tig seductively lowered his boxers down one hip, Mattie salivating over the barely concealed erection. "You want me to show you how I'm gonna make you come so hard you see stars?"

"Yes!" His underwear was allowed to cascade to his ankles. What had he said once? _Whatever little dicks you've played with can't compare to the big, thick cock inside my boxers_. Shit, how right he'd been about that one.

There were no discussions about condoms or pulling out, how they planned to handle the more strategic aspect of their union. Tig was fully aware of Mattie's birth control- he'd purposely tossed the baby pink round at her a week ago, wordlessly asking if she was still taking her pills, and yes, she was- and he made it perfectly clear that he was clean. Handed her the lab printout without any hesitation, just a pointed, _there ya go_. Had a no glove, no love policy with the club girls, and it obviously served him well.

Tig braced a hand on either side of her, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers in a surprisingly affectionate way. "Matt, I'm not real good at this, making love, but I'm gonna try, and if I end up fucking you instead, well, I'll tell you now, it's still gonna be real, real good."

"Unforgettable." She replied with a grin, lifting her eyes to catch Tig's gaze, soulful and doting and undeniably lustful, emotions rolling and cresting across contortions ice blue irises and pitch-black pupils. She'd thought this was all about sex, a means to an end, a fun night fondly remembered but never repeated, but goddamn, everything Tig said implied they'd continue. Tig and Mattie, a bizarrely, almost contradictorily romantic relationship.

"You're wet, baby. So wet and ready for me, sexy and tight and- _Jesus motherfucking Christ_."

She gasped. Whimpered. Mattie wasn't a fucking virgin, her hymen hadn't been intact for at least a year, but _shit_, she hadn't been prepared for Tig to fill her the way he did. For half a second she was terrified the logistics of sex wouldn't work out- she was too shallow, he too thick- but he carefully eased further, kissing the sides of her face, whispering apologies as her walls adjusted to his size.

"Okay?" His question was almost adorably anxious, contradicted by the lust in the back of his throat.

Mattie's response was breathless, faraway, "Yes."

"I'm not hurting you?"

"Baby, no." Thirty seconds ago and that would've been a lie.

Tig ran his tongue across Mattie's collarbone. No bites, just a juxtaposition of moist warmth and the occasional dull scrape of teeth on her skin. And the mind boggling friction between her legs, Tig's deliberate, controlled thrusts rendering all rational thoughts into incomplete considerations, half-mused ideas stopping somewhere in the back of her head and morphing into unearthly groans and pleas of _more_, of _faster_, of _oh shit, oh Tigger, oh fuck babe_. Sheets balled in her hands, head tilted back- Tig tried to kiss her but she wasn't coordinated enough for that, not at fucking all, so he settled for dipping his mouth into the space between her breasts. Took a nipple between his lips, not stopping when Mattie absolutely screeched.

Who the fuck was going to hear her all the way out here anyway?

Regaining presence of mind for the briefest of seconds, Mattie angled her hips upward, linking her legs over and around Tigger's waist, the new position allowing him to sink further inside her, so deep her breath hitched. Two bodies intertwined, expletives first softly exhaled before exploding into voluminous declarations, odes of _fuck _and _shit_ and _Jesus motherfucking Christ_, blasphemy and four-lettered words all rolled into vows of sexual satisfaction.

Because there really was no accurate way to describe the swelling pressure inside Mattie, the climax continuously stoked into life by Tig's cock and just his cock- she was dubious at his previous declaration, not needing his hands to help her get off but she was wrong to doubt him. Gratifying clenches of muscles, growls of intense appreciation within her pussy. Dropping a handful of blankets, Mattie buried a hand in Tig's hair, dragging his mouth upwards- she loved the wet little pop as her nipple left his lips- to hers, kissing him as hard as she could manage in her undone state of mind. Mattie knew she'd be swollen and aching and bruised tomorrow. She didn't care. For this, for the tingling nerves and racing pulse, she'd hurt.

For him, she'd hurt.

Tig pulled away from her lips, moaning into the crook of her neck. "I'm close. You're so fucking tight and I'm _close_."

"Me too." Mattie replied instantly, her voice high amongst all the breathing and groaning,

Endorphins already flooded her system, a sexual high cresting inside her blood as sharply as the rising wave of pleasure inside her thighs. Mattie raked her fingers down Tig's back, nails catching flesh. She had this sickening hope to find jagged red scratches on either side of his spine tomorrow, carnal marks as livid as the bite marks on her chest. Sure, her possessive nicks weren't nearly as visible as the ones Tig left- she had no doubts they were going to be proudly presented at the club on Monday morning- but she'd know they were there, just underneath his clothing.

Mattie didn't anticipate the huge shift inside her belly, the lightening fast strike of orgasm as it surged down her spine and into her loins, her entire body compressed and stretched and screaming as she came. _Holy shit_. _Holy motherfucking shit this was so good and it should never stop and Tig should never stop and this should go on for fucking ever because she'd never felt so good in her whole goddamn life_. She couldn't hear herself and that was good because the sounds flooding her mouth were nothing pretty, wrenching and rasping, begging and delighted, vowels and consonants lustfully tangled on the trip from brain to lips.

Her skin was sensitive fire, sizzling with every one of Tig's continued thrusts. Ears ringing with his voice as he barked her name, over and over and over and she was sure those six letters never sounded so sweet, so profound. His speed increased, excruciatingly slow movements sparking into frenzied contortions, control tossed away for release.

Tig bit her shoulder when he came, teeth snapping onto already sore skin. Action stopped, as did sound, her flesh muffling whatever he might've said during climax. He was frozen above her, riding his own orgasm to completion. Cum already spilling down her thighs, a smaller ripple rolled inside Mattie, a baby climax massaged by sharp pain and lingering desire. Now boneless, spent, she gently lifted her lips to Tig's.

Tig rolled to his side, still half-covering Mattie with his naked body, their skin glued together by a moist combination of sweat and spit.

"We just had sex." Mattie remarked quietly, her brain finally finding its bearings after reluctantly handing off the reins to her heart and her pussy.

"We just _made love_." Tig corrected, murmuring the words into her neck. "But we're going to have sex in about fifteen minutes."

And he was true to his word.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay. Don't be mad. This chapter was supposed to be written much, much faster but do you know how hard it is to write the sexytimes when your grandmother is visiting? I know, excuses, excuses. But the next update should be much faster, and it'll definitely be present day. I'll visit Tig's side of the birthday flashbacks and the aftermath with Jax later, providing grandma goes back to Florida in a timely manner. Hopefully Mattie's birthday lived up to expectations! Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave me a review to let me know what you think! **


	42. Chapter 42

_I'm thinking 'bout you (Ooh no, no, no)_

_I've been thinking 'bout you (You know, know, know)_

_I've been thinking 'bout you_

_Do you think about me still? Do ya, do ya?_

_Or do you not think so far ahead_

_Cause I been thinking bout forever, ooh_

_Or do you not think so far ahead_

_Cause I been thinking 'bout forever, ooh_

_Thinkin' Bout You – Frank Ocean_

* * *

><p>Mattie sighed as she pulled into Charming PD's parking lot, shutting off the pickup's engine but not bothering to get out of the truck. Part of her knew this was a bad idea- a really, really bad idea- but she'd already had such shitty day- not just <em>day,<em> a shitty weekend- and she wasn't sure how much worse it could get.

She regretted the thought immediately.

Fucking David Hale, she cursed, the dual assault of confusion and apprehension forging a deep pit in her stomach. She couldn't deal with him, not today, not after all that'd happened in the last forty-eight hours, not when she was running on about ninety minutes of fitful sleep. What the hell did he want, anyway? Since Donna's death, the two of them had pretty much been strangers, and now all of a sudden, he decided Mattie should come down to the station?

She'd been diligently forging payroll when her cell rang, which was pretty rare when she was TM- after all, if anybody needed her she was just a short walk away. Mattie placed her phone against her ear and expected to hear Tig or maybe Half-Sack- who'd she brought that morning to a cosmetic surgery practice in Stockton so he could, well, get his sack filled- and while the voice on the other end of the line was familiar, she couldn't exactly say it was reassuring.

"It's David. David Hale." He'd greeted, tone a little strangled. Mattie had done her best to keep from tossing her iPhone across the room, settling for slamming both office doors shut instead.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Hale?" Mattie asked politely, once her little outburst was over.

"Come on, Mattie. You don't need to be like that-"

"Oh, really? Maybe you didn't need to come to my house at four in the morning the night my best friend died and tell me what Tig did." She hissed. "Don't you fucking dare try and play nice with me."

There was a long pause before David spoke. "It was a warning, Matt, not a punishment. You needed to know what kind of a man Tig was. Is. But that's not what I'm calling about."

"Enlighten me then, David."

"It's not something I can say over the phone. I'd really appreciate it if you came down to the station."

"Fuck you." She immediately retorted.

"Don't make me pick you up in a squad car, Mattie. Don't make me stoop so low." He cleared his throat. "I don't mind embarrassing you in front of all your SoA keepers."

Asshole. "Yeah? And what would you be bringing me in for?"

"I don't know. Carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. Possession, maybe. Nothing that'd arouse too much suspicion. Now, am I going to have to get serious, or can I trust you to provide your own transportation?"

Goddamn Hale, Mattie thought, when did he get so manipulative? She didn't know whether his threats were serious or not, that's what'd gotten her to drag her ass out of TM and to the station. Didn't help that Chibs accosted her on her way out, all concerned brown eyes and bad news.

Otto. Mattie had been in New York when he went away, and knew it wasn't exactly appropriate to be visiting him in prison, but she still felt guilty as hell about what'd happened. Stupid, considering she couldn't do anything about it- she passed Weston's jeep on the way to Hale and her stomach fell into her shoes- but Otto had always been close with her father and Bobby. Many a Saturday morning he'd spent with Book and Mattie at Lumpy's gym, either sparring against her dad or watching her practice, calling out tips and tricks all the while. When Book died, Otto was by Mattie's side until she left for New York, and even called once in a while before he went to Stockton.

Just another reminder the club was, at its heart, a family.

A family she'd like to get back to eventually, so Mattie pried herself out of the pickup truck and headed inside the station, dread winding around her windpipe with every step. She hated being forced to do something, preferring to approach things naturally once she had time to process them. No such luck today, she murmured internally, knocking softly on Hale's door despite all her misgivings.

Once he called her inside, Mattie assumed her best what-the-fuck-is-so-important stance, crossing her arms over her chest and making sure one hip was arranged at a jutting angle. Gemma would be proud of Mattie's pissed off expression, congratulating her on narrowed eyes and being able to set her mouth in such a straight, no nonsense line.

"It's good to see you too." David said with a frown. "Shut the door, please."

"Only if you promise me whatever this is about won't get me into trouble." Mattie absentmindedly rubbed the spot just below her sternum where Tig's gun had once been pressed. She'd like to avoid another incident like that.

"Matt… Do really think ignorance was the better option?" He demanded, throwing his hands in the air. "Not that knowing Tig killed Donna has really changed anything. I'm sure you're still stupidly attached to him."

"Fuck you, David. Is this why you wanted me here? To belittle the choices I made while being perfectly okay with the fact you did _nothing_ to stop the whole situation from occurring in the first place? Because more of this is on your shoulders than mine, and don't you fucking forget it." Mattie growled, now thoroughly pissed off.

Who the hell did David Hale think he was? His level of immersion within her life was practically nil, and Mattie was well aware of what sort of concessions she was making by being with Tigger. She understood without David's commentary, and yeah, it tore her up every single fucking time she thought about what Tig did. But he wasn't the only one responsible. David didn't pull the trigger, but he sure as shit didn't do anything to stop it from happening- and judging by his guilty expression, he realized that just as much as she did.

"I'm not going to. Trust me, I'll remember what happened and regret my role in it for the rest of my life. That's not going to change." David swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I'm condemned and I know it."

Mattie bit the insides of her cheeks. Her instinct was to soothe others, even when they didn't exactly deserve her good will. David Hale had been antagonistic from the moment he called her earlier, but his current solemnity was making her rethink her own attitude. Taking a deep breath, she took a seat in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk, knowing Donna's death ate him up just as much as it gnawed on her.

She'd drop her own aggression in favor of something firm, but supportive.

"You were doing what you thought was right. Sometimes it's hard to get another perspective when you're so sure of your own convictions." Mattie shrugged. "Stahl took advantage of that."

"I shouldn't have let her have such firm control of the situation, I shouldn't have-"

Mattie cut into his self-maligning speech. "Maybe. But shit, how were any of us supposed to know the chain reaction she'd cause? No amount of foresight would've changed things, which, for people like you and me, people who have a hard time giving up control, is difficult to comprehend."

"I'm just having a hard time accepting what happened. It's been months and I… I still have nightmares, Matt." David frowned. "You think the guilt will ever go away?"

Mattie wasn't sure how to answer him. Would he even believe her attempts at reassurance? Would she be able to muster enough compassion to offer one? Maybe Tigger had used hers all up, leaving Mattie just an empty shell of indifference. She could offer some semblance of forgiveness- not completely, just enough to either make Mattie feel either relieved or like a harbinger of betrayal, depending on her mood- to the man who killed her best friend, but she was having trouble figuring how to offer the same benefit to another man who hadn't actually committed the crime. But like David said, he still had a hand in Donna's death, it just wasn't as bloody as Tigger's. Which wasn't what the cop wanted to hear.

She didn't know what he wanted by calling her down to the station. Was it really to drudge up Donna's murder? Mattie'd finally wrangled her misery into the little lockbox inside her head where she kept all her private suffering, so it'd stay safe and sound until she could fully process what happened. Hell, who was she kidding? Mattie would never really have the courage to examine that piece of her life, because if she did, it'd release an endless barrage of second-guessing and self-condemnation which would swallow her up.

Her entire life was a series of unresolved emotions packaged away for a fuzzy, far off time in the future.

"Guilt is one of those feelings that doesn't go away. Like grief. But it gets easier and easier to manage as time goes by. Some days, you'll even forget about it. And on others, you won't be able to fucking remember what joy feels like." Mattie finally ventured, even as oppressive discomfort banded around her stomach. Perhaps not the most encouraging thing she could've said, but definitely honest.

David met her eyes, his baby blues just a shade darker than she remembered. "Thanks."

"Any time." She replied. "Is this what you wanted to talk about, or is there something else?"

He ran an uncertain hand through his hair, but didn't break their eye contact. Shit. Mattie knew what his nervous fidget meant, and it wasn't good. Once David started explaining, Mattie was ready for the worst.

"I know this probably isn't the best time, but I've got to tell you something important. Something I think you should know, but will be difficult to hear."

"Okay." She said softly, knowing that prolonging the conversation would just cause things to become more uncomfortable, which in turn would make her want to bolt.

"Do you remember Gemma's car accident?"

"'Course," Mattie whispered, already sure where David was headed. She wanted to beg him to stop, beg him to just shut the fuck up for once, but she sat still and listened despite every single voice inside her head screaming for her to get the hell out of there.

"She… There was no car accident. Unser found her in the utility house off 18." David's poignant pause set her teeth on edge. "Matt… Gemma was raped and beaten by the thugs who work for Ethan Zobelle."

Mattie couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe and she couldn't think and she certainly couldn't comprehend what David just told her. Her chest was tight, so unbearably tight with the knowledge the veiled threats Weston leveled at her were actually perpetuated against Gemma. Oh god. Oh _god_.

She thought about leaving his office, about running out to the parking lot and breaking down in Tig's truck, but she couldn't move. Paralyzed from the waist down, Mattie felt the sob escape her throat before she heard it, the world feeling very far away as the ground beneath her feet fell away. Mattie knew she was shaking, knew the tears flowing down her cheeks were heavy and hot, and yet, she didn't care. There was no way to hide how scared and disgusted and fucking wretched she felt. Mattie might be a master of emotional disguise, but not even an expert like her had enough strength to be completely believable.

"They specifically went after the matriarch to get the club's attention. Backfired when Gemma refused to speak to anybody about the attack." David continued softly. "And I know if Zobelle has the balls to go after Gemma, then there's a good chance you and Tara are also in his crosshairs. I didn't want you to have to find out the hard way what those assholes are capable of."

Mattie nodded even though the information wasn't news to her. She'd run into Weston the morning of Gemma's accident- attack, she automatically corrected- where he'd revealed his real identity and all his ill intentions. He'd even hinted at being the cause of Gemma's injuries and Mattie just blithely accepted his threats as just that, her worst suspicions not even close to the truth.

Gemma was Mattie's mother. They weren't related by blood and they didn't share a last name, but from the time she was six months old, Mattie was more Gemma's than Reese's. She instilled lesson after lesson in Mattie, making sure she was smart but respectful, kind hearted but tenacious. Taught her how to walk in heels and how to stick up for herself. Gemma counseled and she disciplined, but most of all, she never made the distinction between her biological sons and her adopted daughter.

It wouldn't surprise anybody to find out Mattie absorbed her ability to emotionally mask from Gemma, considering the older woman was more skilled than Mattie could ever be. Christ, not even Clay knew what happened to Gemma.

Mattie wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep the same secret, if it'd been hers. She understood Gemma's machinations behind keeping her mouth shut, not wanting her attack to affect the club's ability to function, but shit, it was a fucking awful burden. But utterly Gemma to protect the club instead of taking care of herself. Self sacrifice at its finest.

Gemma liked to care for others more than she liked to be cared for- Mattie once attempted to tend to Gemma when she'd caught the flu, and the older woman told her if she offered her another bowl of chicken noodle soup she'd find herself on the business end of a shotgun- but this was the kind of situation with emotional fallout nobody could cope with, not alone. Mattie could only hope Gemma was leaning on Tara or Unser, though she knew that probably wasn't the case.

Mattie's heart hurt for Gemma, even if she knew the Queen wouldn't want her pity. Wasn't necessarily pity though, something deeper, something more comprehensive. A mixture of regret and love and oh-god-why-did-it-have-to-happen-to-her.

People always said how terrible it was for a parent to lose a child. Well, maybe somebody should come up with a phrase about finding out Gemma Teller-Morrow was raped by a gang of AB assholes with a grudge against the club and explain to Mattie how she was supposed to handle the information without cracking. Finding emotional equilibrium would be difficult, if not impossible, which was taking into account she was already reshuffling her mental filing cabinets, trying to figure where to securely store her newfound and unwanted knowledge.

Motherfucking AJ Weston. Going after Gemma was a big mistake- Mattie was no longer scared of the man but furious with him, and knew if Gem chose to tell the club, they'd react much in the same. Weston, Zobelle and all the other bastards might be concerned with issues of black and white, but when they met the Reaper, they'd bleed crimson just like everybody else.

Mattie's sentiment-filtering armor began to settle into place as rage swapped places with her misery, and she reluctantly took the outstretched tissue from David, now embarrassed he'd seen her absolutely fall to pieces. She should've gone some place more private, but shit, the news knocked her for enough a loop her limbs stopped cooperating. It'd happened before- though, honestly, it was usually Tig causing the distress- but never in the presence of anybody else. No, usually Mattie was able to get hold of herself long enough to find some semblance of privacy, but unfortunately the anguish manifested physically before she had the chance.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I'm so fucking sorry." David offered, catching her hand in his. It wasn't forceful, just a small comfortable squeeze. Seemed like during the time since they'd last seen each other, he'd given up on the idea of resuming whatever romance they'd had over a decade ago- and thank god, because Mattie knew she didn't have the fortitude to handle that along with everything else.

"Thanks." She replied, trying out a half-smile. It didn't feel very genuine.

"I just want to make sure you're safe. The club is more dangerous than you want to believe."

"David." Mattie sighed, "Don't preach. I promise to be hyperaware from now on. Okay?"

"That's all I can ask, I guess." He shuffled his hand across his chin, like he was feeling for the bristles of an invisible five-o'clock shadow. "What're you going to do about Gemma?"

"I don't know. I'm going to think about it for a little bit before I talk to her. What I'd want if I was her." She answered honestly, meeting his gaze. The stress in his features was evident, ashen skin tone emphasizing tiny creases she hadn't noticed the last time they spoke.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I don't mean to be the one always dumping this shit on you. Guess I'm just good at being the bearer of bad news."

"Part of the job, though." Mattie replied. "Not everything can be all sunshine and puppies."

"Yeah." His eyes lifted to the clock on the wall. "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time."

"It's fine." She understood the cue, and stood, her limbs protesting the sudden movement. Still felt a little weak, but that was just a byproduct of having the wind knocked right out of her. "Hopefully, we don't need to have one of these unpleasant chats again."

"Definitely. And Matt, if you need anything, if you need to talk to anybody, you know I'm here." He shook her hand awfully formally. "You might be a club girl and I might be a cop, but once we were friends. That has to count for something."

"It does, David. It does."

It was the last thing she said before walking back out to the parking lot, though she thought it might've been more for his benefit than for hers. Christ, what did David want her to do? She'd already broke down in his office, surrendered to the cold, hard blade of utter desolation while he watched. Something she never would've done if that odd paralysis hadn't set in- her body literally frozen while her mind grasped the kind of horror that'd happened to Gemma. Usually it was the other way around, her body fully functioning while her brain stalled, but apparently today's news was shocking enough to render the most reliable parts of Mattie useless.

She was still hollow and unsettled when she started up the pickup, wondering if it was a good idea to go back to the club at all. What if she ran into Gemma? Or worse, Jax or Clay? But it'd arouse just as much suspicion if Mattie just headed home without an explanation, especially when the garage was so full. Shit. Maybe she'd go back to TM, close out the day and then collapse into her bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels and the TV remote.

Then, perhaps, she'd wake up tomorrow having forgotten all of what David Hale told her.

Hey, a girl could wish. Too bad Mattie had no short-term memory- as soon as something entered her brain; it was immediately converted for permanent recollection. No chance for information to get lost in between. Other people might see the sort of talent as a blessing, but to Mattie, it just meant being able to remember every shitty thing that ever happened to her, most of it in great detail.

There was a little bit of traffic on Main Street, for which Mattie was grateful, because she could steal just a little bit more time for herself before heading to Teller-Morrow. Though she was sure no amount of mental preparation could really fabricate her normal barriers, just as she was sure the pit of despair inside her stomach would linger longer than she could fathom.

Mattie wouldn't be able to cope, she wouldn't-

The sharp bleep of somebody's horn cut into her line of thought, and Mattie looked up at the traffic light above her, annoyed. It was red, and even if it wasn't, the car ahead of hers was still stationary. Typical impatient Charming drivers, she figured, trying to make time go faster by being an asshole.

Another beep- no, two- and her irritation level rose. Didn't this dickwad know what kind of day she was having? Didn't they see the SAMCRO decal on the back window of the pickup and know she was somebody they shouldn't piss off?

Childishly, Mattie extended her middle finger out of the window. She could glance in the rearview and give Mr. In-a-Hurry a curt glare, but that was too much effort, and besides, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Everybody knew the Main Street traffic lights were timed all weird and-

Fuck! A long, wailing blare transformed Mattie from aggravated to just plain pissed. The decision to stick her head out the window and scream obscenities was not exactly conscious, and she'd already hurled a few choice phrases when her brain finally registered the scene.

A single, solitary vehicle idled behind her. The Teller-Morrow tow truck.

Goddamn Chibs.

* * *

><p>Chibs was already chuckling when Mattie flashed him the bird, but the expression on her face when she realized it was him- shit, that just set him off. Deep, roaring bursts of laughter as reactions rolled across her features, anger morphing to an embarrassed glower of surprise that finally settled into a dismissive grin of acceptance. Oh, there was an unspoken fuck you in there somewhere, Chibs was sure of it, though it seemed Mattie decided not to focus her attention on that particular sentiment.<p>

When he saw the silver pickup with a SAMCRO sticker which wasn't quite centered on the back window- Mattie pointed out its orientation once and Chibs hadn't been able to un-see the decal's crooked stance- he'd originally thought it was Tig on an uncharacteristic caged ride. Then he saw the driver's smaller stance and made the connection. Mattie's Benz had been at the club that morning, same place it'd been parked most of the weekend, but it took until the moment on Main Street for Chibs to realize she'd been driving Tig's truck instead of her sedan.

Something about it irked him. Didn't know why.

Well, he did, but didn't want to indulge that twinge of bitterness.

His cell phone rang from the inside the pocket of his cut, and he lifted it to his ear, knowing exactly whose voice would be on the other end.

"Really? _Really_?" Mattie's tone was sarcastically incredulous, and made Chibs instantly smile.

"Hey, I was just saying hello. You were the one who took it all personal."

"I was ready to kick your ass." A quick sigh, "Stop following me. I'm mad at you."

"No, you're not."

"No." She conceded, making a sharp left off Main Street he parroted.

There was something wrong with her. Something empty inside her words Chibs couldn't figure out without a face-to-face conversation. Not that it'd be much help, since he didn't have the strange sort of Mattie ESP that Tig did. Not yet, anyway.

"You going back to the club, Princess?"

She hated when he called her that, so of course, he made sure to use the nickname as much as possible.

"Yeah. Gotta make sure Juice isn't ruining my carefully doctored payroll. Hopefully he sticks to youtube-ing videos of cats that sound like they're singing." Despite her statement, Chibs knew she was grinning. Mattie was fond of Juicey's childlike stupidity.

"He's shown you those too?"

"Yep. All of them. More than once."

"So… You eat yet?"

"Unless you count a melted York peppermint patty I found inside the desk at the office, no." She replied.

"Want to grab something with me?"

Chibs shouldn't have asked. He realized this, knew what sort of a weird place it'd put Mattie in, but the question left his lips anyway. Hopefully she'd just decline whatever invitation Chibs eagerly- and desperately- offered, because that'd make things so much fucking easier.

Hadn't he agreed with her assertion the two of them couldn't be friendly if he was constantly trying for something deeper? His mouth said yes and his brain said sure and his heart- fucking little twit that it was- said _I don't think so_. Shit, wasn't like Mattie was going to leave Tig any time soon. Which'd been abundantly clear on Friday night, when the asshole whisked her away on a date- Tig Trager on a date, for Christ's sake! How the fuck was Chibs supposed to compete with _that_?- and then proved once again when he saw her driving Tig's truck.

Chibs was tired of it. He was so fucking tired of all their shit and all his shit, and how, when combined, it created a whirlwind of unavoidable fuckery.

But apparently he wasn't too exhausted to ask Mattie out to lunch.

"Um," Her pause made him uneasy, "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

Ten minutes later, the two of them were pulling into Mel's Diner, Mattie taking a spot by the front door while Chibs angled the tow across about a third of the spaces in the back of the lot. Nobody would complain about the shitty parking lot, and if they did, fuck 'em. Chibs wasn't going to worry about the tender sensibilities of Charming's citizens.

Mattie was waiting outside the front door as he walked up; arms folded across her chest, a dark pair of aviators perched atop her nose. She looked utterly casual, cool even, but something about her stance made Chibs uneasy. Normally he'd be glad to run his eyes up those long, jean-covered legs or admire the way her clinging burgundy t-shirt hugged all the right places, but today, shit, he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Maybe Tig's warnings were finally working. No, if anything, they just made Chibs bolder, willing to do just about anything to piss off the Sergeant-at-Arms. Part of what made him ask Mattie to a late lunch; after all, knowing when they got back to the club Tig would be there.

Chibs had always been one of those men, who, when told not to do something, always did it anyway. If Tig wanted Chibs to leave Mattie alone, he'd have to figure out another way to make it happen. Threats of violence didn't really leave Chibs quaking in his boots; especially since he knew Matt enjoyed watching a good fight. They'd spent a few Friday nights at the club watching the boxing matches on Showtime while Tig either glowered in the background or inserted himself in between the two.

Not that Tig would ever defy Clay by beating the ever-loving shit out of Chibs. As stubborn and unpredictable the SAA liked to believe himself to be, he was utterly obedient to the Pres, and always would be.

Which wasn't to say Chibs was a rebel- well, in conventional terms, he supposed he was- just that Tig wasn't as much of a badass as everybody thought he was.

"Hey, love." Chibs greeted, kissing her cheek. Wasn't necessarily romantic, just a platonic acknowledgement of their friendship, but he couldn't help the odd skip in his pulse when his lips touched her sun-warmed skin. Fuck.

"Hey." She returned with a smirk, pointing towards the door. "Ready?"

"Definitely. I'm starving."

They were seated immediately in a booth against the back wall, next to a group of teenaged girls who immediately quieted when they spotted him. Probably been warned by their parents not to get too close to the Sons of Anarchy.

Glancing across the table at Mattie, who'd lifted her sunglasses into her hair and was now perusing the menu, Chibs wondered if she'd ever been anything like the whispering girls at his back. Probably not, considering he'd heard many a story of the trouble she'd gotten into with Jax and Opie, and also taking into account he'd never really seen Mattie pal it up with any woman besides Donna. Sure, sometimes Jax tried to bully her into spending time with Tara, but neither female seemed to appreciate his efforts.

"Stop looking at me like that." Mattie said suddenly, a single wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. He'd been staring for longer than he thought.

Now that they were face-to-face, Chibs was positive something was off. The fingers she had tangled in the chain around her neck, the silver biting her skin, belied Mattie's calm façade. Her lips bore the smallest hint of a frown, her usually bright eyes muted. Where did she say she was heading when he passed her earlier that afternoon?

Chibs couldn't remember, though at the time, he'd definitely thought whatever she'd told him was a lie. Not even a good lie either. And Mattie was one of the most effortless liars he'd ever met, which was why the quick brush off had unsettled him. Coupled with her strangely flat affect and the nervous twitching of her hands, Chibs knew something was bothering her. She'd deny it of course, he wouldn't expect anything else, but that didn't mean he could just accept her bad mood without question. The only time he'd ever seen her so worked up was when she'd gotten accosted by Weston at St. Thomas, and the realization was more than enough to cause concern.

"Sorry. Trying to figure out what's wrong with you." He replied, noting how her movement stopped the moment he spoke.

"There's nothing wrong." Mattie quickly spat, diverting her glance back to her menu.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Chibs grabbed one of her hands, removing the necklace from her grip. Two rings, one stamped with an elegant A and the other emblazoned with the Reaper hung heavily on the silver necklace, although the Reaper's fierce expression was nothing compared to the one Mattie currently wore. She hated to be challenged, and Chibs knew she was fighting the urge to say something offensive in reply.

Instead, Mattie just hung her head and sighed. "It's just been a long day. After the weekend I had, I was looking forward to something easier, I guess."

Chibs supposed he could understand that, but didn't buy it. The more he pushed the issue, the less she would respond- a trick he'd learned from Tig- so he turned the conversation somewhere less precarious.

"So… What the fuck was with the drama yesterday?"

At first, Chibs didn't even register the teenager sitting on one of the couches in the clubhouse had come in with Tig. The kid hadn't made a very good impression on anybody, and spent most of the evening sitting at the bar with a sprite in her hands, glaring at anybody who came near. Hey, kind of like the reaction Chibs got whenever he tried to get Mattie to admit something was bothering her. Only later did Chibs get the full story from Bobby, who'd left with Tig to take care of Patrick.

The ex-husband and the current boyfriend in the same room? Oh, to be a fly on that fucking wall.

"I don't know. Maya decided to run away from school and turned up on my doorstep Friday night. I was going to return her on Sunday but her father decided to make a visit." Mattie sighed. "Tig didn't take any of it very well."

"That must've been fun."

"More than you will ever know." She retorted without any humor.

"What did Patrick want, coming all the way out here?"

"To be an asshole, mostly. He just wanted to see if my life went to shit when I left him, and he was sadly disappointed to find out it did not, in fact." Mattie shrugged. "I was so keyed up I couldn't sleep last night even though I was exhausted, and then when I was finally asleep I had to get up and take Half-Sack to Stockton so he could get his fake testicle."

Chibs snickered, noticing her demeanor had softened just a little. "How'd the Prospect take it?"

"Like a champ. I dropped him off and I'll pick him up in a couple days, depending on how all the business down there heals. Doctor said he won't be able to work for a week or two." Mattie wrapped work in air quotes, implying the doctor had not been informed of Sack's peculiar profession.

"Bet the kid's just peachy about that. Gets a break from scrubbing toilets in the clubhouse for a little while."

"Yeah, but then again, think about what the bathrooms are gonna look like when he gets back." She pointed out, just as the waitress came over.

The two of them ordered, the gray-haired woman giving Mattie an odd look the entire time. There was a certain amount of accusation in the stare, coupled with a quick-flinching timidity that appeared when Mattie inquired about the choice of soup. She seemed almost startled to hear her voice. Even when Chibs spoke, the woman had her gaze fixed on Mattie, who seemed to either not to notice the attention or not care about it.

The waitress walked away to place their order, head still turned over her shoulder, watching the pair of them until the kitchen door snapped shut behind her. Shit, that was weird. Usually people were wary about the Sons, not the people who chose to spend time with them.

"You know her?" He asked, taking a sip of the water a busboy had placed at their table.

"Nope." Mattie trilled, implying she was well aware of the bizarre interaction. "I mean, Tig and I were here Friday, but I'm almost positive she wasn't. Besides the hostess, there were only two other people working, and both of them were young."

Ah, the keen observations of a woman raised by a hitman. No doubt she could tell him how many exits were in the tiny building along with who she pinned as the most suspicious customer- if he was inclined to ask.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Mattie grinned cheekily. "Maybe she has a crush on me."

"Wouldn't blame her."

"Cute." She retorted, and then added, "Hey, I didn't mean to snap at you before. You know how I get when you're all concerned and shit."

Didn't he ever.

"Y'know I worry about you, Princess, 'specially with all that's going on. Otto and Weston and-" Chibs stopped himself. Perceptive Mattie was probably cognizant of most of the problems in the club, but that didn't mean he should start babbling about the divide between Clay and Jax.

Jax loved Otto just like everybody else, but Chibs was sure he'd never agree to retaliation, not so soon. The VP and Clay were both smart, equally tactical, but Jax was less reactive. He thought about things and he thought about them hard, and his desire to keep his brothers safe would outweigh the need for revenge. Clay's choices were made based on gut instinct, and Chibs had no doubt he'd already have Tig on his side, whose knee-jerk reactions were even immediate than the President's.

Chibs didn't know where the rest of his brothers would fall on the issue. Opie, who'd been practically attached to Clay's hip lately, would surely call for retaliation. Piney would choose wait, solely to piss of Clay. Juicey and Bobby's votes were mysteries, likely to be made at the last moment, and as far as Chibs went… Shit. He hadn't decided yet.

Seemed wise to get rid of Zobelle while they had the chance, but they already knew Zobelle played dirty. Couldn't be implicated in any of the disturbances he'd caused, hiding behind the willing shield his thugs created. Perfect example of how weeds needed to be pulled out by the root, or else they'd just grow back in greater numbers. If the club went after him without a real plan, it'd be worse than just letting Zobelle fester.

Christ, Chibs just didn't know. The club wasn't safe with the asshole around, and they were in even more peril if Zobelle wasn't disposed of correctly. Especially since he didn't have any qualms about going after the innocent women and children who lived within the Sons' realm. He'd hurt them if given the chance. He'd hurt Mattie. Or Gemma. Or Tara. Luann. Abel. Ellie and Kenny.

And Chibs knew he didn't have the stomach to deal with the aftermath if another one of MC's innocents were thrown into the crossfire. Nobody did.

Mattie's voice woke him from his inner struggle, her tone thick with something he couldn't identify. "Chibs, it means a lot to me that you're concerned, but I'm… I'm just not good at talking about the way I feel. I'm not even good at feeling the way I feel, to be honest with you."

"Is this one of those situations where you're going to say it's not you, it's me and leave it at that?" Chibs teased, though he wasn't really amused.

Mattie frowned. "I guess. 'Cause, I mean, that's really how it is. It is me. You know I trust you, I really fucking do, I'd trust you with anything, and I do want to talk to you- but I can't. I _can't_. I don't know why."

She did trust him. Chibs had been waiting for that acknowledgement for a long time. The sign their relationship was something more than friendship, something less than romance, a medium they both were happy with. Well, maybe not completely, Chibs couldn't lie and declare he was fine while Mattie and Tig were together, but it was certainly better than being just another person Matt didn't mind spending time with. Like Juice- while the two of them got along fine and had some similar interests, he'd never find them going out to lunch together.

But Chibs wanted Mattie to open up. He wanted to know what her childhood had been like in her own words instead of everybody else's. He wanted to know how the hell she'd gotten involved with Tigger without the impeding opinions of all the Sons that'd been there to see it. He wanted to know why she was so fucking afraid of disclosure. Whether it was just instinct or learned or something else altogether.

Somewhere in his head, Chibs had come to the idea that if Mattie bared herself- emotionally- to him, she might be able to see that perhaps Tigger wasn't the only man for her after all. Maybe she'd realize there was somebody else willing to take care of her and not fuck her up in the process. And yeah, he was talking about himself because he was stupid enough to still have feelings for Mattie. She was only about the most unapproachable woman he'd ever met, and of course, the most intriguing. Didn't matter if she had already had Tig and was unwilling to discuss the most innocuous subjects. Some weird form of reverse psychology attracted Chibs to her, and would continue to magnetize him until something drastic happened.

When Mattie first arrived in Charming, her reaction to Chibs' questioning was always a curt version of, "I don't want to talk about that." Now, it'd been amended to, "I don't want to talk about that, but maybe someday I will." And Chibs was going fucking crazy over the small concession. How desperate.

"One day?" Chibs asked, just as the waitress dropped off their lunch. She was still keeping a keen eye on Mattie, but the younger woman just brushed it off.

"One day." Mattie confirmed. "And a Cardinal always keeps a promise."

Chibs smiled, knowing she was genuine. The necklace once tangled in her hands was safely tucked away under her blouse and some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Whatever was bothering Mattie was still there, and maybe she'd just stored it away better, but she definitely seemed more relaxed as she twirled her spoon between her fingers.

"When do you have to pick up Moby?" Chibs wondered, tearing off a piece of his roast beef sandwich and dipping it into Mattie's chicken soup just to see how she'd react.

Good. A grin accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "A half hour ago, technically. But on Monday and Thursday he goes to aftercare at school and Lowell picks him up. Gives Moby some time to play with his friends instead of being stuck in the office."

Chibs could argue that Moby loved spending time at Teller-Morrow, whether it was coloring at the computer desk or inventorying parts with Mattie, but figured it was better left unsaid. After all, he didn't know if Mattie saw she was becoming Moby's surrogate mother, just as Gemma had been to her. Mattie had a talent for putting two and two together, but Chibs didn't want to catch her off guard and ruin whatever tranquility they'd attained.

By the time the waitress brought over their check- Mattie protested over his insistence to pay for lunch, though she didn't fight too hard, probably figuring it was impossible to win- they'd found their easy rapport, the teasing continuing as they left the diner. Chibs followed Mattie to Tig's truck, like a gentleman, even if it was mostly because he wasn't quite ready to end their lively back and forth.

"Can't believe you ate a bowl of soup." Chibs remarked, "It's about eighty-five degrees out here, y'know."

"Well, it's about thirty in there with the air conditioning, so I guess I was trying to find some sort of balance." Mattie retorted, shaking her head at his comment.

Chibs grinned inwardly- and outwardly, since he was trying for honesty- knowing exactly how to handle the situation. He kept his eyes glued to Mattie's hazel ones, not dropping the gaze even as his hands worked slowly and purposely, not allowing her to be distracted by the movement. If he didn't keep her attention then she might scamper away, and he couldn't let that happen. Not yet.

Mattie's opened her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to ask what he was doing, but Chibs interrupted his motions to place his right index finger against her lips, letting his touch linger for a beat too long. She didn't flinch though, just watched, raptly, while Chibs completed his task.

The grey scarf he'd been wearing looked good draped around her slender neck; the dark knit emphasizing just how pale she really was. No amount of time spent in the California sun would ever change that complexion, just the number of freckles blooming upon her flesh. Which was something that might require a closer look in order to be adequately proved.

Chibs didn't know where the boldness came from, but he placed both his hands on her waist, pressing Mattie gently but firmly into the sun baked warmth of the pickup's door. One of his thumps tenderly swiped the soft skin of her hipbone and he was sure he heard a gasp, a tiny acknowledgement that perhaps the contact was not altogether unwanted.

"Better?" He wondered aloud, curving his left hand along her side until it reached her shoulder, not shying away even when the swell of her breast cupped his palm. She might've claimed to be cold earlier, but she was all sweltering heat now.

Mattie took a second to answer, her quickened breathing filling up the silence. "It smells like you. The scarf, I mean."

It wasn't what he asked, but went for it anyway. "And what do I smell like?"

"Soap. Cigarettes. Leather. " She listed, before grinning, "The open road."

Mattie's face was turned up towards him, big hazel eyes full of an emotion that looked and felt like desire. Or was he imagining it? Had he forced her into intimacy without giving her a way to escape? Chibs wanted Mattie to want this as badly as he did, wanted her to be a jumble of nerves and longing. He didn't want to manufacture something that didn't exist.

By the same token, if Mattie wanted out of his grasp, she would've wrestled away already. She'd done it plenty of times when he'd gotten too close, always accompanied by a dark, warning gaze. But she was stationary. Quiet. He'd already touched her and teased her and she hadn't reacted negatively.

Chibs leaned in, knowing if Mattie didn't want this, then she could simply turn her head. It wasn't a big deal. Just the absent friction of his lips against hers. It wouldn't break him if she didn't return his sentiments. They'd laugh and they'd go back to the club and everything would be fine. Because he was Chibs and she was Mattie and they got along so well not even a rejected kiss could change things.

But it would.

Which was why he pulled away at the last moment, when he could feel her breath against his mouth. Things would change and lines would be crossed, their relationship forever different.

"We should get back." He sighed when personal space had been returned, her body no longed tucked against his.

"Yeah." Mattie murmured in agreement, punctuated by the jingle of the keys transferred from her pocket to her hand.

Chibs lead her back to the garage, trying not to think about what almost happened. Trying to ignore the idea that Mattie might reciprocate his feelings on some level, whether she acknowledged them or not. Right now there were just too many other things to worry about. Like the vote on retaliation.

If Chibs had any idea his whole world would explode not even forty-five minutes later, he would've just fucking kissed Mattie with everything he had.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay… A little different this chapter. Bit of tension for those on the Chibs side of the fence. Anyway, I don't have a lot to say this author's note, so thanks so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	43. Chapter 43

_I feel just like I've been reborn_

_Can you feel it too?_

_I know that we have survived the storm_

_So what can't we do?_

_Oh I believe in a different perfection now_

_No white picket fence_

_Oh we got ourselves a different direction now_

_What has it all meant?_

_Simply sayin' that I'm never coming down_

_Never Touch the Ground – Y LUV_

* * *

><p>Tig leaned inside the doorway to the bedroom, savoring the quiet moment of observation. It was a hair past noon on a sweltering June Sunday, the sun was out in spades, the woods were silent save for some chirping crickets and his girl was sleeping soundly.<p>

Lying on her side, right hand tucked between her cheek and the pillow, the other wrapped around a corner of the comforter. Her legs twisted in some impossible contortion, the angles looking uncomfortable but her chest rose and fell in slow, sleepy succession. Skin pink and flushed and shiny with swatches of sweat- the temperature in the cabin had steadily risen and was probably hovering around ninety. She had this barely there grin on her lips, a smile so small he thought that maybe she was awake and watching him as closely as he was her, until she stirred, wriggling her hips lower, unconsciously shoving the sticky sheets away.

Guiltily, he took a few steps into the room, sighing before sitting on the edge of the bed, knowing that she'd wake with either the shift in weight or sharp screech of the bed frame. Mattie slept as lightly as a kitten, always mewling awake with the slightest nudge or sound, and sure enough, her hazel eyes drifted open within seconds. Neither had slept much the night before, there was too much to do, too much to touch and taste and _feel_. Tig couldn't remember how many rounds they'd gone, just knew that he hadn't allowed her to put clothes on- she'd tried to tug a t-shirt on to go to the bathroom and he'd growled and nearly tore it in two- and every time she'd started to doze he'd woken her with a rough kiss or his fingers between her legs. Mattie hadn't complained, hell, far from it, she fucked him wholeheartedly for hours and hours and then blew him when she was too exhausted to even part her legs.

Christ. Yesterday, he didn't think he'd find this girl, sleeping in just a black thong- earlier that morning, when both his calves contorted with the sharp, unthinkable pain of Charlie horses, he'd acquiesced on the clothing issue, though the tiny panties hardly counted- tits bare, not even censored by the blanket or a protective arm. Naked and delicious and completely sure of herself- well, as confident as one could be while asleep- the opposite of the tentative teenager from yesterday afternoon. This Mattie could be called a woman. That Mattie… shit, he didn't know.

She'd been all creased, worried eyebrows, lips puckered with embarrassed, unasked questions and it'd almost been enough to make Tigger rethink his plans. _Let's just stay home, _he'd nearly said with a shuddering sigh, already regretting all the time he'd spent getting the cabin presentable. Piney must've gone on some fucking bender because the place was a dirty shithole, smelling like puke and pussy, the sink full of mold covered dishes, the bedroom strewn with moth-eaten clothing. Took him two goddamn weekends to clean the place out, longer to convince Piney to let him have it on the 18th- _shit, Tig, I'm not gonna let you deflower a fucking kid in my house, you fucking idiot,_ and no, mentioning that Mattie was not a virgin did not help his cause- and that ultimately trumped whatever misgivings he had about Mattie's mood.

Her attitude had something to do with the livid bruise on her cheek, purple striated with deep brown, stark against pale skin. For some reason Tig didn't think Jax's awkward punch was going to do so much damage, but then he'd seen the black and blue and his stomach dropped into his fucking knees and his pulse skyrocketed. Fury bleated crimson inside his vision and he'd fought not to react, didn't want it into make into a bigger deal than it already was or freak Mattie out- more than she already was. Mark his words though, on Monday morning, Tig was going to kill that cocky, golden haired motherfucker. Slaughter him. Laying a hand on another Son's girl was a capital fucking MC offense, and that little bitch was going to learn his lesson. Because she was his girl. Sex didn't change such a simple fact.

He'd thought about it, letting Mattie go after this. He'd thought it about for all those intolerable months, while he'd worked himself deeper and deeper, figuring that it'd be natural to fuck her and leave her. That's how he was hardwired after all, hell, he didn't know if he'd be able to allow Mattie to stay in the bed when they were done. Instinct would've prompted him to shove her out the door, into the warm twilight. But it didn't, and Tig didn't know why and it drove him fucking crazy. Like everything that happened since he picked her up- saved her, though he didn't usually like to make the offer of a ride home so grand and heroic- from the club in Pope, he couldn't fathom where or why or how his head got so turned around. The attachment formed and he was just… _done_.

Sometimes, he hated it. But not last night.

"Where'd you go?" Mattie's lethargic whimper pulled Tig from his thoughts, bolstered by the hand she'd placed on his arm.

"Called Happy. Well, called the clubhouse to see if he'd left yet."

The wrinkle in her nose was unmistakable- and it had nothing to do with Happy himself, just his reason for visiting the cabin. "Has he?"

"Yeah. About a half hour ago. Should be here soon," He smacked her ass, the sound ringing staccato throughout the room, "So you should think about putting on some clothes."

Mattie made a sound halfway between a sigh and groan, rolling onto her back. Now he could see the welts and bruises he'd stippled across her collarbone and shoulders, smooth circles made by suctioning lips and jagged teeth marks wholly apparent on fair flesh. Possessive badges pinned upon her skin.

Tig ran his fingertips across one, expecting her flinch at the pressure or pull away, but she shot him a harsh look, eyebrows drawn together as if to ask what he thought he was doing. Checking to see if he'd hurt her, seeing if she was traumatized by those little patches of pain, but he wasn't about to tell her that because it made him sound like a pussy and he was already the tiniest bit incapacitated by her. Didn't need to give her any more power than she already- unfortunately- had.

Tig knew he sounded like an asshole, but then he'd remember that he was almost certainly in love with Mattie, which balanced any of the petty, negative shit he thought about. Didn't know when he'd mention it to her, whether he'd wait it out and let it fester, see if she budged first, but he'd finally allowed his mind to close in upon the idea and hell, it wasn't half bad.

She was rummaging through her backpack, bright green nylon bedecked in fading marker doodles, and Tig knew it was probably the last time she'd use the high school relic. It was how he used to spot the SAMCRO babies walking home from school- the bobble of neon green in the corner of his eye meant he'd have to watch them run around the lot, giggling like idiots and getting in trouble- and made him feel the littlest bit nostalgic. The kids not being kids anymore was a fucking weird change… considering he was now having sex with one of them. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't go down this train of thought.

"What are you looking for?" He asked finally, when she kept pulling things out of her backpack before promptly shoving them back inside.

"A pair of shorts. It's fucking unbearable in here." She declared dramatically.

He grinned. "Sorry, baby. Happy's already on his way, can't tell him to turn back because you're sweaty."

"I know." Mattie finally held up a pair of denim cutoffs in triumph, "But it'd be nice if you could."

Tig couldn't explain the need to get some sort of ink on her. Not a crow, she was too young and he was too cynical for that kind of symbolism, but something simple, understated. Nothing anybody could point at and say, _well, Tigger definitely is crazy about this one_. No immovable bird doomed to perch dormant on her skin- Jax was not just overly optimistic putting that tattoo above Tara's ass, but _stupid_- because Tig wasn't about to sanguinely believe he and Mattie'd be together forever. He didn't like the idea of losing Mattie, fuck, it made his stomach cramp, but he couldn't deny- given his track record- it was a distinct possibility.

SAMCRO was a natural choice. Enough meaning to merit being inked on her body, not so much to make him or anybody else uncomfortable. Book would be fine seeing those six letters on his daughter- and Tig already checked, because he was not looking forward to the shit show should Papa Cardinal not approve or the pain that would could along with it- and Gemma had not bitched too much when he broached the subject, so that was what Tig was going with. Happy had drawn up the tattoo a long time ago, when Mattie's birthday was still a shadowy, perverted scheme in the back of Tig's head, and he'd kept it hidden until the right moment.

He'd been reluctant to show Matt. Didn't know how she'd react. Outright refusal, wholehearted agreement, or, as it turned out, something in between. She wasn't thrilled, hell no, skittish but had ultimately accepted. He didn't know whether it was the needle or the permanence that made her uneasy. Since it was Mattie… shit, it meant he _really_ didn't know. Might've learned how to read her, but she still had the ability to be just furtive enough to elude him.

"Tigger?" Mattie asked over her bare shoulder. She might've gotten those shorts on and had found a bra, but she was still shirtless. Which, of course, he didn't mind.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I've been thinking."

"Uh oh." He teased, even though he wasn't really in the mood for some big discussion.

She gracefully jumped onto the bed, landing on her belly and nestling into his side. Without thinking, Tig stroked the curve of her back, suddenly needing to know what the grooves of her spine felt like underneath his fingertips. The urge was annoyingly sentimental, but he wanted to memorize the strange combination of skin and bone and nerves. He wanted her to shiver underneath his touch. He wanted to do this simply because he could.

"I don't want it to be big." Mattie said, her voice sounding far away. She'd been thinking about this for a while. "Small."

"Visible." He countered.

Mattie made a noise in the back of her throat which seemed vaguely like an agreement. "Where was Colleen's crow?"

"This isn't a crow." His response was immediate and not quite civil, enough to make her narrow her eyes in his direction.

"And I don't want a crow," She spat, sounding very much like an eighteen-year-old girl, "I just don't want you to look at the tattoo and think of your ex-wife."

That was interesting. Tig was always the jealous one; he was the one who had to grind his teeth every time another man looked in her direction. His jaw actually started to ache in anticipation when the two of them were out in public too long. Mattie's covetousness was subtler; if she was feeling protective she'd clutch a handful of his cut inside her palm. He didn't really understand it, but it was harmless enough- though a croweater trying the same stunt would be immediately slapped away, and hell, maybe that was Mattie's point.

And for her to be concerned about Colleen… Had Gemma let it slip- strategically, for the Queen never unintentionally made a mistake- about the whole Colleen cover up? Because fucking his ex-wife was mostly boredom and dangerous curiosity, it had nothing to do with lingering love or any other bullshit like that. It wasn't important. It was just a thing to do with his dick until he found something better to occupy his time. And Colleen called him, because shit, he wouldn't seek that harpy out.

"Baby, when I look at you, Colleen is the last thing on my mind." Tig murmured, softly, because Mattie would like that and he was hoping to soothe her prematurely should she continue to question him about Colleen.

"You're such a bullshit artist." Matt huffed, but there was a smile on her lips. Good. The worst was over. "And you never answered my question."

"Her right ankle."

Matt nodded. "Does she know about the two of us?"

Tig's throat closed at the question. Was this some sort of a test? Seeing if he'd lie to her, trying to trap him. But no, he'd never known Mattie to play games. She'd either avoid the topic altogether or bring it up without trepidation, nothing in between. This wasn't a confrontation- her body language changed when she was ready to fight, tight and coiled like a boxer's- so he decided he didn't have anything to worry about.

"Yeah. I told her." Tig struggled for a reason to divulge that sort of information to his ex-wife. "I went to see the girls one weekend and her boyfriend was there. Some asshole banker or some shit like that, all high and mighty in his shirt and tie. So I mentioned that my girl was young and pretty and had amazing tits. Colleen was jealous enough to ferret out the rest."

The banker thing wasn't even a lie, his name was Aaron and he drove a Volvo. Tig always mentioned the car because it was just about the most exciting thing Aaron brought to the table. Tig knew he wasn't always the most stable man, but he couldn't imagine having to deal with Aaron on a consistent basis. Their conversations always centered on the weather and were spotted with long, awkward silences. Whatever. Aaron and his lack of interesting character traits were Colleen's problem.

"She never liked me." Mattie wasn't looking for him to refute or affirm her statement, he could tell by the matter of fact way she said it. Plus, Tig wasn't completely sure- Colleen tended to judge people using a set of guidelines that only made sense to her.

Tig opened his mouth to speak, but there was a heavy knock and a raspy shout of, "Open the motherfucking door asshole, I got shit to bring in," which suspended whatever conversation they were having. Mattie grinned broadly at Happy's murderous greeting, kissing Tigger chastely on the lips before he got up to let the Killer inside the cabin. "What the fuck, man? We couldn't do this in Charming?" Happy demanded, handing Tig a heavy leather duffel bag. "You afraid your bitch gonna cry or somethin'?"

"Or something." Tig replied, setting the bag on the sturdier of the two sagging couches. "The trip was bad?"

"No. Made good time. Just wanted to fuck with ya." Happy smirked- well, Tig assumed that's what that expression was- and pulled him into a tight bear hug. "Been a minute."

"Fuck you, too. And it's been less than a month since you last graced us with your presence." Tig said good-naturedly. "If you were still in Tacoma, shit, I'd have seen you for that lockdown back in March but not much else."

"Yeah. Heard about that." Of course. Rumors flew from charter to charter because some- most- of the Sons gossiped like schoolgirls. "How's the kid about that shit?"

"I don't know." Because, really, he didn't. Mattie hadn't spoken about the incident since it happened, not in any depth. Tig didn't blame her, and hell, he recognized that she processed things differently than most people- something he understood particularly well himself- but if she decided to open up, he wanted to be the one she went to. Needed to be that person. It'd confirm what Tig already suspected- he'd earned 100% of Mattie's trust.

Which only meant he could lose it from that point onwards.

"Well, her pops taught her well. Lucky he did, or else you'd have to find another kid to fuck." Happy's observation was unapologetic and straightforward; Tig wouldn't get any grief from the Tacoma Killer, which was why he'd gone to him about the tattoo in the first place. "You should thank him."

"And what would I say? Hey brother, thanks for teaching your daughter how to use a gun, because I'm really interested in sleeping with her?"

"Yeah. It'd be worth it to see the slaughter afterwards." Revision: Tig wouldn't get _much_ grief from the Tacoma Killer.

"Maybe you should go back to Tacoma."

"Nah. I like seein' your handsome mug on a regular basis." Happy shot Tig a sideways glance. "Where is the kid anyway? Can't believe you'd come all the way here without your new piece of ass."

"She's putting clothes on." Tig let the implication hang heavy.

"Oh. I see. I'm the one interruptin' _your_ day, not the other way around. I'd say that I could come back, but I really don't want to fuckin' do that."

"Yesterday was her birthday."

"Eighteen?" Happy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Ain't you the motherfuckin' boy scout, waitin' for that shit to roll around. Maybe you ain't the creepy pedophile prick everybody sayin' you are." Happy shrugged. "Not that there's anything wrong with a little underage pussy."

Tig wanted to laugh, but kept the guffaw contained. Since he spilled to Book all he'd gotten from his brothers were opinions and judgments about him and Mattie, most of which he didn't want to hear in the first place. He understood how fucked up their relationship was. He was fully aware he'd known Mattie since she was a little girl and he'd essentially watched her grow up. No, he didn't know how he could allow himself to think that way about a kid who babysat his kids. Yes, he needed more than three hands to count the number of years between their ages. Tig didn't fucking need to hear it from every Son in a goddamn three state radius.

But Happy just shrugged it all away. He didn't care. He didn't ever involve himself in anybody else's business unless it affected the club, and for that, Tig was thankful. It was nice to have a break from all the bullshit.

"And here's the kid now." Happy drawled, one half of his mouth curling upwards. Happy and Book were surprisingly close, the two killers trading murder stories back and forth and comparing favorite methodology. Hap had a standing reservation at the Cardinal house whenever he was in town, and Tig guessed he had some loose sort of familial- at least it had better be familial- affection for Mattie because of it.

His girl had put on a t-shirt, crisp white and v-necked and tight, the bottom hem barely meeting the waistband of her denim shirts. She'd said earlier that she hadn't packed for company- he'd looked briefly inside her bag and it was mostly lace and satin- but Tig wished she'd put on one of his shirts instead.

Part of him missed that red fucking sweatshirt.

"Hey, Happy." Mattie greeted with a small smile, and Tig wrapped an overprotective finger around one of the belt loops on the back of her shorts. He had no reason to be jealous, but the sensation burned brightly inside his chest anyway.

"Shit, kid, I knew Tig was some kinda freak and liked it rough but _goddamn_. Your dad's gonna shit himself."

Mattie's forehead creased for a second, and she followed Happy's gaze to her cheek. If she'd forgotten about the bruise then maybe it wasn't as sore as yesterday, even if the mark was still livid. "Tigger does like it rough," She purposely knocked her hip against his, "But this is a birthday present from Jackson. And Daddy already knows."

_Jackson_, huh? That meant she was far more furious with the blonde than Tig had originally given her credit for.

Happy cocked his head to the side. "I bet Book's just sunshine and fuckin' daisies about the two of you fuckin' around."

"He's… something." Tig replied easily, repeating his earlier statement, knowing he'd avoided getting the shit kicked out of him by a very slim margin. How or why Book refrained from delivering the ass beating was a mystery, but Tig suspected peacekeeper Bobby had something to do with it.

They shot the shit for a few minutes more- mostly talking about Happy's old Tacoma pal, Kozik and his exploits in Charming- before the killer got down to business.

"You still got that sketch?" When Tig nodded, Happy added, "Go find it for me while I set up my shit. And you, kid, you go get comfortable on the couch. If you're not gonna be able to sit still I've got some weed, but I always think you should get your first tat straight."

Tig was halfway out of the room when Happy said this, but he knew Mattie's hazel eyes were seeking him out for advice. She wouldn't get much, he couldn't remember the last piece he'd gotten done while he was sober, shit, he preferred being as shitfaced as humanly possible when that needle touched his skin. Tig could withstand pain, but tattoos… Shit, he didn't know. Always made him feel like the biggest pussy in Charming.

"No, I'll be okay." Mattie trilled.

Of course she would. Didn't complain when Jax punched her. Didn't complain when Hirsch stabbed her nor about the multitude of stitches she'd needed afterwards. Didn't complain when she sprained her hand- or even when it broke the first time around, if he was remembering it right. Just a quick acknowledgement of the injury if somebody asked about it- like how Happy had- but nothing more. Probably a side effect of Matt's tendency to avoid things, but Tig liked the quality nonetheless.

Tig watched Happy drag over one of the end tables- the lamp previously residing atop it had been unceremoniously discarded to the floor- when he walked back into the living room, sketch in hand. It'd been inside the pocket of his favorite jeans since Happy drew it, and yes, that meant it had also been through the laundry a few times. Tig didn't have the patience to go through his clothes before throwing them into the washing machine, didn't even bother sorting them out by color, just tossed 'em, washed 'em and dried 'em without fuss. He'd jokingly asked Mattie to help out with the wash when she was over his apartment one weekend, and the look she gave him in return was priceless. Her response was even better: _I'll fuck you, but I'm not gonna fuck you _and _wash your dirty clothes_. _Do I look like a croweater to you? _That'd been before they slept together, but he doubted her feelings on the subject had changed very much.

"I'm thinking about putting it here." Mattie touched her left hip, and from the angle she was sitting, Tig realized she'd been talking to Happy and not him.

"Okay. I'm good with that, but what about your man?" Happy glanced at him, obviously not trying to put himself in the middle.

"I thought we talked visible." Tig's preference was the middle of her goddamn forehead, but then it would have to read: _Property of Tig Trager, keep your motherfucking hands off. _

"It will be visible. All I have to do is wear my shirt like this," She pulled on the hem, revealing a strip of bare flesh, "And anybody can see it."

Mattie might be weaning herself off the baggy t-shirts and jeans that'd once been her uniform- Tig realized her newfound love of a v-neck was for his benefit, as were the low-rise jeans- but he had reservations about how comfortable she'd be revealing so much previously covered skin. She'd barely broken the compulsion to wear that goddamn red sweatshirt.

"You ain't gonna do that though." Irritation filtered heavily into his voice and Tig revised his next argument, "Baby, come on, be honest. You know you're not."

Mattie bit the side of her cheek- the good one- a sure sign she was trying not to get herself in trouble with her mouth, a trick he'd seen Jax employ countless times when he spoke to Gemma. Wasn't a SAMCRO baby trait, no, something more specific only Jackson and Mattie shared. Surrogate siblings and all that bullshit Tig didn't really want to think about, not after what Teller did just two days ago.

She finally frowned, and closed her eyes as she answered, "You're right."

Wow. Tig was married to Colleen for four years- four? Was that right? Maybe it was more like three and a half- and he was positive those two words never left her mouth. Ever. About anything. Not without throwing something or overlaying the statement with a heap of sarcasm. If somebody was wrong, it was Tig, no matter what or how or why.

God, what the fuck was he supposed to do? This was usually when an argument transitioned into a scream fest and Tig didn't know how to continue without raising his voice. He was at a loss for words- civil words- and nodded blankly. If she was Colleen, he'd gloat, but she wasn't, thank the motherfucking powers that be.

There was no way Mattie was just eighteen. She was too goddamned rational to be so young.

"What about…" She extended her left arm towards him, helping to awaken him from his stupor of confusion, "The inside of my wrist? It's visible, and it'd be small. Plus, if I needed to, I could always cover it up with a bracelet or something like that."

What a problem solver Mattie was. "Perfect, baby. Fucking perfect."

"Gonna hurt, though. I'll warn ya now." Happy interjected, almost finished getting all his equipment out of the duffel bag. Both the coffee and end tables were littered with disinfectants and inks and all sorts of other shit Tig couldn't readily identify. If he'd been more sober the last time Happy touched up one of his tats…

"I don't mind." Instantaneous. Tigger got a little bit horny to hear his girl say those words like that. Pain and pleasure, right? One look at her fucking shoulders would proclaim the association far better than Tig could ever explain. She didn't ask him to hurt her, but her cries got louder every time his teeth sank into her creamy skin. Maybe he should search for something to tie her to the bed with once Happy left. Maybe-

"Tig, you got paper towels? I forgot to grab a roll." Happy interrupted his thoughts- hard to think about Mattie writhing around naked and helpless with that raspy voice in his head.

"Yeah. In the kitchen."

By the time everything was underway, Tig was fucking fidgety, ready for her to be inked so he could drag her back to bed. His muscles weren't protesting so loudly anymore and his cock was halfway hard and she was looking so fucking appetizing in that goddamn pristine white t-shirt. Oh, his baby wasn't much of an angel anymore. Not after last night. He taught her things no innocent little schoolgirl would ever know without proper perverted tutelage.

"Did you at least get a good punch in before Jax socked you?" Happy was checking over the letters on her wrist, which he'd ended up free handing. Didn't change much from the original, just scaled it down a bit.

Mattie chuckled. "No. He was drunk and he meant to hit Tig. Just missed by a wide margin."

"Idiot." Happy started up his machine, and Tig's teeth instantly began to grind at the mechanical sound, "Bet Book'll have taken care of him by the time you get back. Blondie be lyin' in a ditch somewhere off the highway or some shit like that."

"He'd be smart to lie low for the weekend. But he's not going to." Tig cut in. "He's too fucking prideful."

"He's what, barely fuckin' twenty years old? Every-fuckin'-body is a goddamn asshole at twenty. It'll burn out eventually, and if it don't, the club will fuckin' take care of it." Happy glanced towards Tig. "He still fuckin' that dark haired bitch?"

He didn't mean Tara was a bitch; it was just how Happy referred to most women. If Mattie wasn't Book's kid first and foremost, she'd be Tig's bitch. No reason to get offended by the title.

"No. She left." Mattie answered simply, lips parting slightly as the needle touched her skin. Didn't flinch or pull a face, just the tiny undulation of her mouth. Tig wanted to say something but decided to let it be.

"Shit. He put a crow on that and everything." He let out a breath, before adding, "Dumbass."

Count on Happy not to celebrate the tradition of a Son choosing an old lady. His definition of a relationship was even looser than Tig's, who was the benchmark for one night stands in the Sons of Anarchy. Happy, being a Nomad, could fuck whoever the hell he wanted whenever he wanted, and never had to see the girl again. Charming croweaters were an insular society of their own, and they always turned up when Tig least expected. Usually when he was drunk enough to remember his mistakes but not drunk enough to want to make some more.

Bored, Tig ventured away from the pair. He knew nothing more would be said about Jax and Tara- Mattie seemed to have a vow of silence when it came to the illustrious pair- but he didn't want to ruminate on any aspect of the little Prince's charmed life. Made his temper flare, and his mood was too good to be ruined by that asshole.

Against one of the wood paneled walls was a crooked assemblage of SoA family pictures, some old enough to be shot in black and white. Half a dozen of Piney and JT, with their then-wives and babies, smiling jubilantly, the two men looking young and healthy. Tig almost couldn't remember Piney without the emphysema or extra pounds, and it was even more of a rarity to see Mary without her trademark scowl. Shit changes, the pictures proclaimed, faster than you can ever comprehend.

Some of the more recent ones featured post- or near-puberty SAMCRO babies, Opie and Jax apathetically staring at the camera, Mattie between them, head tossed back in laughter. _The Three Heading Out to Fish_, a neatly scrawled caption read underneath, Piney's handwriting along a sun bleached piece of masking tape. Tig wondered what the hell was so funny, what had struck Mattie and not the boys, doubting if anybody would really remember. She was maybe, shit, thirteen? Fourteen? Even a little older than that, but still so fucking young, with big chubby cheeks and a floppy high ponytail.

Christ, Mattie was just a kid in the picture, her body a disjointed set of square, androgynous angles, sharp little hips and shoulders underneath an athletic purple bathing suit. Tig glanced over at the couch, trying to find any similarities between the goofy child and his girl, who'd matured into curves and beauty and quiet. Same coloring, a stripe of freckles across her nose and cheeks darkened by the summer sun, the crimson in her chestnut hair brightened by it. Same reverence to those two boys flanking her in the photo. Same smile, big and broad when she was especially thrilled. But… different.

Everyone saw Matt as this kid, this child Tig had somehow managed to corrupt, but goddamn it, she _wasn't_. She wasn't a child, she was young, yes, he understood how many years she'd lived and it was a much smaller number than his, but Mattie Cardinal was no normal eighteen-year-old. She'd changed so fucking much from that picture on the wall, into- as cliché as it sounded- a woman, _his _woman, mentally wise but physically young. He didn't need to justify her age to himself because he didn't see it, it didn't register when he looked at her or he talked to her. Sometimes, sure, her tone went too high-pitched or she said something an old fart just wouldn't understand, but mostly… She was just Mattie.

His Mattie.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, in my defense, this little lady named Hurricane Sandy came wandering through town about a week ago, bringing with her a whole bunch of wind and rain, the combination of which caused a power outage that only ended yesterday. Thankfully, that's the biggest hit we took, our house and family and safety is intact so my heart goes out to all those who lost much more than their comfort. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading this chapter and putting up with my slow ass posting, and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	44. Chapter 44

_Livin' on the back nine, livin' out your past life, tryin' to make a livin' as an outlaw_

_But the problem you see, stealing ain't what it used to be, everyone's used to it by now_

_You pack up your gun, make your best run, your faking isn't breaking any new ground_

_But is there such a thing, when you watch the rain wash away everything you thought you'd found?_

_Where does the time go?_

_I don't know_

_It's movin' underneath me_

_Like I'm moving in slow-motion_

_I reach out though_

_It passes too quick_ _to see me_

_Time Go – Caught a Ghost_

* * *

><p>Tig tangled his fingers with Mattie's, sure that his grip hurt like hell, those tiny reconstructed bones and ligaments in her left hand popping and protesting, but he didn't dare lessen the harsh pressure. Fuck, he doubted that she even realized he was there at all, holding onto her for dear life while the EMTs and police swirled around the parking lot.<p>

She just kept staring at the crimson blemish on the asphalt. Not Chibs, not the blown-to-shit minivan, just the bloodstain.

It fucking scared Tig in a way he couldn't believe.

A lull in conversation. The pause between sentences. A breath before speaking. That's how long it took the world to explode. Irreparable damage dealt in the silence of a single second. And Mattie saw everything. Her perch inside the doorway of the office provided a perfect view of the detonation. Of Chibs.

There were no hysterics. No screaming or flailing limbs and certainly no tears. Tig didn't expect any of that from Mattie, not while everyone was still milling around the parking lot, not before Chibs was loaded into the ambulance. He was counting on muteness and stillness, steady breathing and a bland expression that professed nothing beyond simple surprise. Soon she'd shake and she'd cry and she'd ask why- but not yet. Once they were alone. That outward, initial reaction was for the benefit of those around her.

Tig still clutched Mattie close, feeling like she might float away into the carnage if he didn't. He couldn't find her after the blast and had the horrible thought that she'd been much closer than he'd originally gauged, until he found her tucked under Opie's protective arm. The gentle giant must've grabbed Mattie with the specific intention of shielding her from the scene, but Tig knew the damage was done. She'd seen it all, and with her memory, she wasn't bound to forget.

"Matilda, sweetheart," Unser said, looking very much the grizzled, aging cop tonight, "Hale's gonna need your statement."

"It can wait." Tig replied for her, not sure if she'd even heard the chief's request. He doubted it.

Mattie slowly looked to Unser, her gaze finally wrested away from the rust-colored spot on the ground. The police cruisers and their flashing lights cast a strange dappled glow on her blank features, her profile hauntingly cast in red and blue. "Will it take very long?"

Her response was tiny and tender, so sad and goddamn vulnerable that Tig just wanted Unser to get the fuck away from her. He wanted everybody that didn't belong within the gates of Teller-Morrow gone. He wanted just the people who'd understand Mattie's behavior, who saw straight through her barely restrained composure without asking her to shed it.

If Hale tried to agitate a response from Mattie- his track record suggested this to be a spot-on assumption- Tig would kill him. If he offered so much as an I-told-you-so about the dangers of the club, Tig would kill him. Because as much as Hale desperately wanted to, he never understood Mattie. She'd reveal her hand when she was good and ready, but press her too hard and she'd shut down. Plain refusal would meet whoever was trying to bust down her emotional doors. Tig, who'd always relied on brute force, learned this lesson rather quickly, so it was sort of baffling to think that boy scout, college educated David Hale had yet to figure things out.

"Not long. A few questions about what you saw and then you're done." Unser sent Tig a very direct glance and a curt nod. "I promise."

"Okay." She agreed, exhaling a long breath. "I'll talk to him."

Mattie followed Unser across the lot, Tig watching her oddly graceful movements, still unable to shake the feeling that she might vanish into thin air if he lost track of her again. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to prove to himself that Mattie wasn't going anywhere. Also to soothe the migraine that was definitely beginning to burrow through his brain. Christ, the fucking cops needed to get the hell out soon.

All Tig wanted was a little bit of distance between Mattie and Chibs, but shit… This was not what he had in mind. Chibs was his brother. Chibs always had Tig's back where it mattered and but Tig still had the nerve to fucking alienate the man because of some territorial bullshit. He loved Chibs. And yeah, at times- mostly when he was with Mattie behind Tig's back- he hated him. But in a petty, brotherly way. The anger never lasted. Which, since Tig could get real riled up, was really saying something about the sort of relationship they had.

Chibs needed to be okay. He needed to be okay because Tig couldn't remember the last time he'd said something to his brother that wasn't either an insult or a threat. He needed to be okay because Tig needed to tell him that he was just so fucking afraid of Mattie walking away again. She and Chibs got along so fucking effortlessly that it was just hard for him to watch. Alone, Tig trusted them implicitly. Together, his mind started to churn in irrational ways.

He just needed to explain that to Chibs. So that idiot Scot had to make it through the night. Hell, if Chibs could get out of Ireland with the IRA on his heels, then he could definitely survive an exploding minivan.

Tig wasn't going to be able to take out Zobelle and all them high-class Nazi assholes all by himself, after all.

Matt's talk with Hale was taking longer than Tig would've liked, but he stayed away. He needed time to think without worrying that she was going to fall apart- it was not only an absurd fear but also an impossible one- without worrying if she could see past all his guards in same way he could never find opacity in hers. That Mattie, always so unwilling to be frank, yet able to run her fingers inside just about anybody and find the little pieces that made them tick. A trait that Tig loved and hated all at the same time.

Hale was occupying her while Chibs was loaded onto the ambulance, though, so maybe that idiot cop was good for something.

Gemma filled the empty spot at Tig's side while Clay and Jax were off talking to Unser and the fire chief, resting a manicured hand on his arm before she sighed. She'd been making rounds, playing MC mother and letting everybody lay their burdens down on her. Tig wouldn't have expected anything less.

"It's bad, isn't it, sweetheart?" It was more of a general remark than a question, but Tig replied anyway.

"Real bad." Simple, but concise.

"How's baby girl doing?"

Tig couldn't help his growl. "How do you think?"

Gemma, to her credit, didn't pay any attention to his tone. "She'll be okay. Give her a day or two and it'll pass."

Tig didn't believe that, not completely. Gemma knew just as well as he did that Mattie behaved exactly like this when Book passed. She was quiet and paralyzed and almost emotionless, until the second that she decided to leave Charming. Then she was all resolute sadness- sans tears, Mattie never cried unless she was alone or with Tigger- willing to leave everything she knew in order to get away from her grief. And to get away from Tig, if he was being honest. Book died only two and a half months after Mattie miscarried. After Tig abandoned her.

This was different, though. That's what the dark concern in Gemma's eyes read. Chibs wasn't Book and Mattie wasn't even Mattie anymore. Tig's girl had grown up and learned lessons. She belonged in Charming and if she belonged in Charming, she belonged with him- that's what she told him after the last time she ran. After the last time he'd given her an excuse to run.

Tig still wondered if he hadn't dragged her back to Charming if she'd still be down soaking up San Diego sun. He didn't share this gnawing idea with anybody else.

"Mattie'll be okay." He affirmed, more for himself than for Gemma, but either the Queen didn't notice or decided not to remark upon it.

"I know, baby. I know." Gemma softly elbowed him, then added affectionately, "Your girl is a sneaky little bitch, Tigger. Always stronger than we think she'll be."

"Ain't that the motherfucking truth."

Mattie was walking towards them before Tig had a chance to check on her again, looking more exhausted than she had before. He could attribute that to her whirlwind weekend, though; pretty sure that she'd hadn't slept at all, or if she did, it hadn't been for very long. She smiled despite the bags under her eyes, a little grin that was just for Tig. Maybe an indication that she was breaking out of her thinly veiled shell shock.

Mattie still had Chibs' scarf wound around her neck, her only defense against the cold air that'd settled in once night fell. If the night's events unfolded differently, Tig might be demanding to know where the fuck she'd obtained that particular item of clothing.

"What'd the asshole want?" Gemma asked first, wrapping her arm around Mattie's shoulders. Tig watched the two women, wanting to add himself to the mix somehow. Hey, he needed comfort too.

"Where was I? What did I see? Do I know who touched the van today?" Mattie shrugged. "Nothing too strenuous."

"So… You lied, another words." Gemma asked with a sigh, though all three knew that at heart, she was actually proud of her MC offspring.

"Oh, yeah. Bullshitted my way through." Honest and unremorseful. Tig couldn't help but smirk. His girl was a devious liar, and so long as she wasn't using that trait against him, it was something he admired.

Things eventually died down, and Clay called the Sons to the chapel once again. Tig left Mattie outside with Gemma and Tara- not that the two younger women ever really spoke to one another, though he wasn't sure if that was out of spite or simple dislike- while he migrated indoors. He'd already told her that she wasn't going anywhere tonight, not after what happened. The hospital could wait until morning. She'd reluctantly agreed before yawning, so Tig was sure he'd find her after church already knocked out inside his dorm.

Even if they'd reached a consensus earlier in the day, Tig knew Chibs would still be in the hospital, but he was still pissed at Jax anyway. Couldn't the Prince see that Zobelle needed to die now? He'd already fucked with enough lives in the short amount of time he'd been in Charming, and there was no goddamn way Tig was going to wait for more people to get hurt. It was in moments like these where he almost wished Mattie stayed in New York, far away from all the violence- until something inside his chest growled painfully at the assertion.

Zobelle's time in California would be coming to an end soon, whether Jax agreed or not. Because if somebody else got hurt while the blonde asshole dragged his feet, Tig would not be held accountable for his actions. The Sons protected their own. No matter how dangerous things got, SAMCRO always stood its ground. Jax was just being a little pussy who was afraid to put his own ass on the line for the club.

If it'd been Tara in Weston's pictures, Jax would've flipped his shit. Had it been a different brunette featured in that email, retribution would've been handed down already. But no, it was Mattie, who already knew what it was like to be used as cannon fodder against the MC- god, Tig still wished he was the one who killed Hirsh- so the golden boy brushed it off as a simple threat and nothing more. Pissed Tig off. Weren't Mattie and Jax supposed to be brother and sister or some shit? When Tig broached the subject with Mattie, she'd considered it for a second before responding with her trademark nonchalance, saying some bullshit line about how the two of them handled fear better than Jax and Tara.

"Plus, baby," She'd leaned into him, looping her arms around his neck, "Tara still has her doubts, about both her man and the club. I don't. I know you'll keep me safe."

Tig loved when she said shit like that. He fucking ate it up. Which, of course, he hated, but he'd long since gotten used to that strange dichotomy when it came to his feelings for Mattie.

It was late by the time the men filed out of church, and Tig was cagey and hot- somebody needed to open some motherfucking windows in the clubhouse- and utterly tired, but he swung behind the bar to grab a bottle of cheap whiskey. His brothers seemed to have similar ideas about drinking alone, and he watched them scatter around the clubhouse before heading back to his own dorm. After the night they'd all had, camaraderie was too overwhelming. They needed a chance to get out of their own heads.

Tig wasn't necessarily surprised by the woman awake in his bed, but part of him- the piece that felt forty-seven years old- wondered where the fuck she'd found the energy to keep her eyes open.

There was a half-clean mug sitting on his nightstand that he was sure had been used for the same purpose, so Tig didn't feel bad when he dumped a sizeable portion of booze into it. Enough to share, he figured, handing the cup off to Mattie once he'd taken a few decent throat-burning gulps. The kind of sting he needed after a shitty day.

"I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a few things." She said, sitting up and reverently pulling his cut from his shoulders. The bed bounced a little when she slid down to place the leather in its usual resting place on a chair in the corner, making sure to set it down just right. Between her father and Gemma and everybody else, Mattie'd been taught to respect a cut both on and off a Son.

His girl lazily walked back over, stopping when she was a few feet away. Asking silent permission to approach, sensing his bad mood. What happened in church wasn't her fault, though. Or maybe she'd thought her earlier behavior was to blame.

Mattie was different than she'd been outside, no longer full of that quiet trepidation. No, whatever those feelings were had either vanished or been pushed aside, replaced by an unflinching calm Tig couldn't help feeding off of. That damn girl always knew what he needed.

"C'mere." He growled pleasantly, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her forward.

Tig liked that she was only wearing one of his t-shirts, simple white cotton with SONS printed across the chest in navy blue letters. An older one, close to threadbare, so thin that he could almost make out rosy nipples through the fabric. He wondered where she'd abandoned her bra, and if her underwear had accompanied it.

He also wondered whether it was sort of insensitive to be thinking about fucking Mattie after she'd just watched Chibs almost get blown up by a car bomb.

The answer to his first question was no- Tig traced the outline of her panties with his fingertips after running his hands up the long expanse of her bare legs- but coming to that conclusion made the crotch of his jeans tighter.

"I'm sorry about before." Mattie began, a single wrinkle of worry marring her forehead. Tig resisted the urge to smooth it with his fingers. Didn't want to frighten her away.

"Baby, you saw shit that nobody should ever have to see."

"No. I should've reacted differently. I was so useless. Christ, look at Gem. She was so poised, so effortless. I wish that I could've done _something_." Shame crossed her features and Tig could feel her pulling away emotionally.

Fuck. Tig knew she didn't want reassurance- she'd disregard whatever he said for the dark voices in her head- but at the same time, her reaction wasn't all that outlandish. If it'd been Tara or Luann in the same position, they would've been wailing and crying and just generally freaking the hell out. Mattie, meanwhile, just silently processed the scene, and managed to shed her shellshock not even two hours later. Because Gemma was right, Mattie was always stronger than Tig gave her credit for.

If she could handle him, then she could handle just about anything.

Tig tilted her chin downwards, so that he could look her in the eyes. "Don't you dare fucking talk like that, Matilda. You're not Gemma. And nobody expects you to be. So stop fucking wallowing in all the things you could've done differently. Trust me, baby, it doesn't help."

Mattie's mouth quirked slightly before she threaded a hand through his hair. She knew what he was talking about without having to ask, just like Tig thought she would. Or rather, who he was talking about. Donna. In the days following her death, Tig spent hours analyzing his actions, figuring out if he'd have been able to change what happened. If only he'd kept his phone with him… If only he hadn't been too cowardly to look Opie in the face… If only he'd delayed himself at the party just long enough to see Donna and Ope switch cars… It was hell because everything led to the same conclusion: Donna was dead and it was Tig's fault. No amount of thinking altered his perception.

Tig made a mistake. Out of weakness, out of misinformation, he didn't know. It happened and it was done and he was still living with the consequences.

But Mattie… She was scared. Worried about Chibs. Her silence and paralysis were unsettling, but not damaging. But she knew how Tig felt about frailty and was trying to puff up her chest for his benefit. He didn't need that, though. He just needed Mattie. He needed her to stay with him, in Charming, and not go anywhere else.

"Fight or flight, sweetheart?" Tig asked, tugging her onto his lap, her legs straddling either side of his hips. He made sure to pose her right above the growing swell inside his jeans.

Mattie considered it for a moment, eyebrows drawn together and bottom lip clutched between her teeth. When she finally spoke, Tig admired the ferocity in her voice. "Fight. I told you, I'm done with running away."

"You sure?" He leaned her forehead against hers.

"Yes."

It came out in a whisper that he cut short by pressing his lips impatiently against hers, forcing out a keening little moan that drove him absolutely crazy. The kiss was hard, the friction hot and jagged and so fucking delicious. She'd used his toothpaste, an ancient tube of cinnamon flavored Colgate that burned across her tongue as she swept it against his lips and into his mouth. Shit, Tigger couldn't think of anything better than pulling off Mattie's tiny black underwear, unbelting his jeans and thrusting inside her.

He just wanted a few moments out of his head. That's all. He wanted to forget about the very direct attack on the club, the same club that was crumbling before his very eyes. Tig couldn't stop what happened to Chibs no more than he could keep the Sons together by himself, and so he was looking for something that he knew he couldn't fail at.

Tig broke the kiss to tug Mattie's t-shirt over her head, tossing it indiscriminately across the room. Sex wouldn't fix anything tangible, but it'd make them both feel better temporarily, which, honestly, was more than enough for him. He just wanted Mattie close, moaning his name while she dug those piano-honed fingers into his back. His girl that'd dealt with a mountain's worth of shit over the past weekend- him in the hospital, demon spawn Maya, Moby's party, the showdown with Patrick- she needed to feel good for a little while.

It was the least he could do for the woman he loved.

Tigger reached behind Mattie's head, gently removing the little black band from her loose ponytail, scattering hair against her shoulders in a completely sexy, disheveled way. Now he had Mattie in all her pre-sex glory, curls framing her freckled cheeks, tits lusciously bare. A little smile creeping upon her full lips as she teased his hands across the still-covered curve of her ass, silently reminding him that there was still one piece of clothing he had yet to shed. Not for long. Not for very fucking long.

He pressed his lips to the whorl of her ear, about to inform her of all the dirty things he was waiting to do to her, how he wanted to-

"Hey, Tig, Clay's looking for y- Oh, shit." Opie stopped mid-sentence, standing frozen in the doorway. "Oh, shit. Sorry, man."

Tig pressed Mattie into his chest, trying to hide as much of her nakedness as possible. A possessive act of censorship- didn't matter who Opie was, Tig still didn't want him seeing his girl's tits.

"Ever heard of knocking, asshole?" Tig grumbled, wrapping Mattie in his shirt, the same one she'd very nearly taken off him before Ope interrupted. "Tell him I'll be out in a sec."

Opie said something affirmative before leaving, but the reverberation of Mattie's laughter started long before the door settled heavily shut. Tig found the situation slightly less funny, considering he was going to have a wicked case of blue balls, but couldn't help grinning along with her.

"We have the worst luck." She moaned, leaning her head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Ain't that the truth."

Mattie lifted herself off Tig's lap, settling on the mattress next to him, still looking so very fuckable. "I can wait up for you."

"Get some sleep." He got up to grab another shirt. "I'm sure whatever Clay wants is going to take a while."

"Okay. But if you're still horny later…" Mattie trailed suggestively, accompanying her speech with a small wiggle of her hips.

"I'll make sure and wake your sexy ass up." Tig kissed her before slipping the Glock on his nightstand into the waistband of his jeans. "Love ya, babe."

"Love you, too." She replied as he walked out.

When he returned later, after a dark, deep discussion about where Jax's antics were taking the club, which left Tig mentally winded, Mattie was asleep like he'd thought she'd be. She looked innocent with the quilt tucked under her chin, a book splayed out in the open space to her side, almost like she'd tried to keep her eyes open for as long as possible before succumbing to slumber. Waiting for him.

He'd been worried that Mattie might've slipped out while he was occupied, gone home or to the hospital, but no, she'd proved him wrong. The going got tough and she didn't run away. She witnessed the almost-decimation of her friend- that was the only way he could describe her relationship with Chibs without making his stomach hurt- and stayed without flinching.

Tig was proud of Mattie.

Even if he was slightly pissed she didn't tell him about spending time with Chibs just before the explosion.

Baby steps, he supposed.

* * *

><p>Mattie caught the strange look Tara sent her while walking into the waiting room, and she tried not to focus on the tightening ball of nerves in her abdomen. The women had never really gotten along and usually alleviated the tension of interaction by simply avoiding each other. There really was no reason for awkwardness between them, not ten years ago and not now, but Mattie supposed it just something they'd become accustomed to.<p>

It wasn't as if Mattie simply didn't _like_ Tara. No, she respected the doctor and her achievements, even understood her decision to leave Charming. It might've taken Mattie a long time to get to that place, but she wasn't going to judge Tara's choice when she essentially made the same. Their circumstances were different- Tara's problems were with the club, Mattie's were with her man- but they both left Charming with the intention never to return.

Guess they both fucked up on that account.

Jax had pointed out their similarities so often that Mattie could practically recite his whole list. Neither had grown up with biological mothers- Tara's died and Reese ditched. Both of them were smart- Tara was a doctor and Mattie was a lawyer, albeit a currently non-practicing one. They'd fallen in love with Sons- though Mattie usually disregarded this bullet point since the difference between Jax and Tig was enough to render it moot. Tara and Mattie were quiet and calculating, and utterly unwilling to let just anybody past their emotional walls, he'd always finish with an arrogant, all-knowing smile, like he'd just proved that two plus two did indeed equal five despite all the evidence otherwise.

It didn't matter. That was what she always countered with, because shit, it was true. Mattie was sure that parallels could be made between any two people, given enough time and inspection. She and Tara weren't any different in that account. Just because Jax wanted his old lady and his pseudo-sister to get along didn't mean he could force them to. No, the rift separating them was petty but wide, and neither really seemed all that intent on closing it.

A girl raised by bikers, Tara used to say in such a way as to imply being in the care of wolves might've been a better option. Shouldn't have mattered, they were both just teenagers after all, but it was that reason the remark got so deep underneath her skin. And yes, she resented Tara just a little bit because the older girl was so beautiful and graceful and had also dated her boyfriend first- it was the idyllic era of Hale/Cardinal back then- but it wasn't as though she was the only one with ridiculous issues. Like say, Tara being utterly convinced Mattie was in love with Jax. No. It wasn't true then and it definitely wasn't true now- come on, Tara had to have witnessed at least part of the dramatic Tig and Mattie show- but she'd never found a way to alleviate Tara's concerns without exacerbating the issue. At nineteen, the familial dynamics of the Sons of Anarchy were incomprehensible to Tara Knowles, no matter how Matt decided to explain them.

Tara was finally coming around though, spending more time around the club than she ever had. Even getting along with Gemma. Mattie never thought she'd see the day, but she'd watched the two of them carry on a perfect pleasant conversation without a hint of cynicism or discomfort from either party. Maybe Reese's god did grant miracles.

Mattie remembered when Tara walked into the clubhouse after getting her crow. The skin on her lower back still all inflamed, the ink startlingly bright on her flesh. Jax looking all proud and characteristically cocky, but so quiet. Silently asking what everybody thought of the tattoo and the woman he'd finally decided to make his Old Lady. Mattie had thought the whole display too garish, too deliberate, and most of all, sort of insulting. Tara didn't respect the club. She didn't respect the symbolic permanence of the crow. Even at sixteen, Mattie knew that you didn't tie yourself to a Son if you didn't mean it. And there was no way that restless, dream-filled Tara really meant to stay in Charming, with Jax, forever.

Three months later, Tara was gone. Ten years after that, she returned, whether it was for her job or for Jackson, Mattie didn't need to know. Their lives were separate and yet connected, the unions many but loose, always falling apart in translation. And that was fine with Mattie, as her need for female friendship was never very dire anyway.

Tara forced a smile as she sat across the room from Mattie, folding her hands in her lap. For her part, Matt acknowledged the action with a quick, almost friendly nod.

"Gemma wanted me to update you on Chibs."

Mattie had wondered where the Queen had gotten to, considering her car was in the lot. Didn't much help that Mattie had gotten a late start- Moby had a meeting at school that Lowell couldn't make, so she went in his place- or that her nerves went so frenetic the moment she entered St. Thomas she needed to gulp down two cups of tea before heading up to the eighth floor. Chamomile with no sugar that tasted like shit, because Mattie knew full well that the eighth floor was no man's land. ICU. She'd been there enough times to not expect optimistic news.

Fighting the urge to tangle her fingers in the chain around her neck, Mattie just blithely replied, "Is she still here? Or did she step out?"

"I think David came by to talk with her."

"About last night?" Her stalling attempts were obvious, but she didn't care.

She didn't want to know if Chibs was slowly dying. Didn't want to hear it so she didn't have to process the idea that she'd sent him to meet the reaper. How many times did she remind him to take the towed minivan to the open bay once that Prius got picked up? How often did he just crinkle up his brown eyes and say, "aye, lovely," like she wasn't being a bossy little bitch? All because she didn't want the garage to get backed up again like last week.

One car bomb later and things like that ceased to matter.

It could've been anybody, Mattie told herself. It could've been another Son or a mechanic, and would've been just as bad. Because a detonation that big? Can't walk away from that. Mattie had seen some spectacular near misses over her years, but a man surviving an explosion? Impossible. That's what Tara was going to say and Mattie simply didn't want to hear it.

"I don't know." The doctor's voice took on a note of irritation. "Matilda-"

"Mattie." She corrected, not missing the crease forming on Tara's forehead.

Tara hunkered down, crossing her arms over her chest. "Chibs has a subdural hematoma, which is basically a bleed in his brain. The doctors are trying to stop it."

"So what does that mean?" Mattie kept her tone as casual as she could manage.

"Basically, he's critical but stable. He should come through this, but it's a waiting game." She sighed. "They might have to go in and relieve the pressure."

"Oh."

Mattie didn't know what else to say. Was she supposed to celebrate the fact that Chibs 'should' survive? Judging by Tara's look of avid confusion, perhaps Matt was lacking the proper amount of optimism for the situation. But good news at St. Thomas had the habit of fizzling into disappointment.

"It's a positive prognosis, Mattie. He's beyond the worst."

"I understand."

The two women looked at each other for a moment too long, both deciding what to say to the other. Tara was always an easy read, and Mattie knew what sort of thoughts were churning behind the doctor's dark eyes. Wondering how close Mattie and Chibs really were. Whether she was still dealing with the trauma of watching him run from an exploding minivan. If Mattie was put together as everybody thought she was. The answers to those questions were complicated and personal, and there was not a shot in hell that Mattie would respond truthfully to any of them if asked.

"Are… Are you worried about what's happening?"

Tara's inquiry caught her off guard, and Mattie took a moment to consider her reply. Was she worried? Yes. Zobelle wanted to fracture the Sons, and didn't care how he did it. Didn't care who he hurt. He might not have raped Gemma himself, but what kind of hideous human would sanction an order like that? Defiling a woman to destroy the MC. That was still incomprehensible to Mattie. But how were they supposed to defend themselves against somebody like Zobelle, who never joined the fight? Sure, he had thugs like Weston do his bidding, but Zobelle hid cowardly behind the glass storefront of his cigar shop. His tactics were frightening, but the man himself wasn't. Or maybe he was even more terrifying because Mattie still had no idea what he looked like.

"Of course." Mattie finally replied, trying her best to seem nonchalant.

"Then how can you be so calm? You saw Chibs, you watched that van explode. But you're just sitting here, like you don't have a single care in the world." Tara shook her head viciously, and continued her assault with her eyebrows knitted together. "It's ludicrous, you realize that? It's just so ridiculous that you have absolutely no reaction to the danger that you're constantly in. And don't give me any bullshit about trusting the club. I already get that from Gemma."

Mattie could feel a curt, nasty response on the tip of her tongue, and searched for a way to circumvent the anger racing up her spine. What the fuck did Tara expect her to say? Or rather, what did Tara expect her to say that she didn't already know? Mattie wasn't _calm_. She wasn't fine with what was happening. The emotional censorship was just a reaction to those feelings. Compartmentalize, then edit. The only way Mattie managed to get out of the bed in the morning.

And the past seventy-two hours were a real bitch to process. Maya's unexpected arrival, Tig's accident, dealing with Patrick, finding out about Gemma, the almost kiss with Chibs and then his brush with death… Christ. Overwhelming didn't even come close. She'd already ticked through Maya, Tig and Patrick, almost had her head wrapped around Gemma's attack, but Chibs… Shit, Mattie didn't know.

He was literally millimeters away from her lips, face slanted, nose just brushing against hers- and then he wasn't. She'd thought for a moment that maybe he was just playing another game, seeing if she'd complete the kiss on her own, but hell, she didn't really think that was true. The moment was too scathingly real. His combination of tenderness and boldness, running his hands up her side like she belonged to him… Mattie just froze. Her brain skipped, searching for a way to respond, and never found a track to settle upon.

Like that time when he explored the tattoos on her back with his fingertips. The simple, unanticipated brush of skin against skin just stopped all rational thought. They'd barely known one another then.

It seemed like Mattie still had a hard time saying no to Chibs.

But she didn't cross that line. Straddled it, sure, and nearly tipped over, but she didn't have anything to be ashamed of.

Except she was. If Tig ever found out… Shit, she didn't even want to _imagine_ his reaction. Mattie pressed up against his pickup truck by another man- Tig's ego couldn't take that kind of blow. He'd flip. Betrayal, that's what he'd call it, even if he was the one out fucking anybody with two sets of lips. Mattie, a whore, Tigger, a stud, the double standard glaringly obvious.

She'd never cheated on Tig. Still hadn't, she supposed, but he wouldn't see it that way. Tig's claim on Mattie was absolute and non-negotiable, and he'd been trying to prove it to Chibs for months. Too bad the Scot just wouldn't listen, and that he'd finally gotten the nerve to make a move- even if it was behind Tig's back. Mattie didn't know what made him pull away. Or why there was a twinge of disappointment afterwards.

God, that made her sound _so_ awful. Mattie loved Tig. She knew her attachment wasn't healthy or sane and it didn't make any sense- but she'd felt that way for almost eleven years. And Chibs wasn't making her question her feelings, he just… Mattie didn't know. Maybe she was just curious. Couldn't even remember what it was like before she was Tig's girl.

Everything was complicated. And pathetic. Mattie kept asking herself _why- _why she let it go so far, why she let Chibs touch her when she knew it was wrong- and still hadn't come up with an answer. It required too much circumspection, and she couldn't summon that sort of self-examination with Chibs lying in a hospital bed. She'd much rather focus on how that was her fault. No, she didn't install the car bomb or incite Zobelle, but she was the one who asked Chibs to bring that minivan into the garage. It could've sat overnight. Should've.

Maybe she was some sort of fucked up black widow. Almost kissing men and then luring them to their death.

For Tara to think she had no reaction to what happened… Didn't she see Mattie last night? Utterly lost in a place she'd known her entire life. That's how Matt felt after the force of the explosion was enough to ricochet her back into the office, to shake the concrete floor. She'd heard people say that horror happens in slow motion and never once believed it, but shit, it was true. The flames engulfed the minivan bit by bit as Chibs rocketed through the air, a cry caught someplace between her throat and her lips, his body so still when it met the ground that Mattie was sure he didn't survive.

Her ears rang for hours. The scent of sodium nitrate burned inside her nostrils. When Mattie shut her eyes, she was still standing in that doorway, watching him die. She didn't have the capacity for anything more than dumbfounded silence. Shellshock, Hale said. Mattie didn't know what the fuck that meant and why he thought he knew enough about the situation to be making diagnoses, but the moment she heard his words, she did her best to sober up. Begged her brain to forget, stowed away the unruly emotions. Wasn't a real thorough job and Mattie could already feel the stress leaking through, which meant that Tara was either oblivious or kinder than she gave her credit for.

Tig was worried. Mattie knew that. She could see the way his blue eyes went all wide when he looked at her, felt the tautness of his hand around hers just after the explosion. Fight or flight, he'd asked later. Mattie hadn't even thought about it. Flee where? It had already been proven that no matter where she went, Zobelle would send somebody with her. So yes, she'd stay with Tig and fight- figuratively, of course. But Zobelle wasn't the reason why- Tigger would never say it, but he needed her. The club was falling apart. He and his brothers faced danger coming from inside their own town. All of Tig's constants were slipping away from him. So Mattie would stay.

They depended on each other. Just like Jax and Tara, Tig and Mattie were a team. Not the A-Team, but that was okay. She didn't need or want to be the center of attention. And Tig was always more of an anti-hero. So why didn't Mattie seem affected by the car bomb? Her worries were becoming unfurled, but they'd be completely out of control if Tig wasn't around to tuck them in.

But how was Mattie supposed to say any of that to Tara?

"You want me to tell you that I'm scared too, and I am, but I don't let that dictate the way I live day to day. The more you alter yourself and your schedule, the more you acknowledge the danger, the more it's going to fuck you up. And I realize that nobody expects me to be normal after last night, and I'm not. But I internalize for me. I do it because I don't know how to _not_." Mattie threw up her hands. "I don't know if that's the answer you wanted. I can wax poetic, but I thought you wanted the truth, and what I just said is as close as you'll ever get."

Tara's mouth twitched. "It's better than anything I've gotten out of Gemma."

"She likes to get a little creative with her explanations."

"Yeah. You could say that." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to finish getting ready to leave."

"Go ahead. I didn't mean to keep you."

"You didn't. And I'm glad we spoke." Tara stood, "Thanks for the straight talk. Nice for a change."

"No problem."

"I'll see you later, Mattie. And I'll make sure the doctors keep you updated on Chibs." Tara smiled, and Mattie was pretty sure it wasn't forced.

"Thanks, Tara."

Tara and Mattie might not ever be friends, but at least they proved they could interact without an overwhelming amount of tension.

Now alone, Mattie hunkered down in her seat, wondering whether the Sons had retaliated yet. Tig hadn't told her what their plans were- of course not- but she knew they were going after Weston and Zobelle. Hopefully things would be over before the day was out.

She wouldn't be so lucky.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I wasn't going to post this for a couple days but I did a little wiggling and managed to wrangle two other previously discarded chapters into life- am I the only person who writes something, decides they hate it, and then changes their mind a million times afterwards?- so I figured, hey, why not, right? I'm not sure when/if the Chibs/Mattie moment in the parking lot will be resolved or how, but it won't be for a couple chapters, I think. Gotta let it fester, right? Anyway, as always, thanks for reading and please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	45. Chapter 45

_I'm working on drawing a straight line_

_And I'll draw until I get one right_

_It's bold and dark, girl, can't you see_

_I done drawn a line between you and me_

_I'm working on erasing you_

_Just don't have the proper tools_

_I'll get hammered, forget that you exist_

_There's no way I'm forgetting this_

_My Backwards Walk – Frightened Rabbit_

* * *

><p>When Mattie saw Gemma's new Caddy sitting in her driveway, she thought the Queen would be waiting in the car, except the driver's seat was empty. Shit. Luck was, once again, not on her side.<p>

Mattie only planned to go on a quick run, but then she'd hopped the fence that separated the park down the street from the baseball fields behind Charming High and ran around the deserted track until her legs ached. And then she kept on going until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, until she was just a burning set of lungs and limbs and emptiness.

Nothing had gotten better. Only worse. With the guys in jail, everyone left in Charming was more on edge than usual- which was why Mattie had a gun tucked the sweaty space between her ass and the waistband of her running shorts. She'd probably have some sort of nasty blistery bruise back there, but hell, it was better to be safe than sorry.

The front door was locked so Mattie had to suffer the indignity of ringing her own doorbell, only to be met with one of Gemma's disapproving looks. Hadn't been enough room to bring along a set of keys, and besides, her houseguest- her _other_ houseguest- should've been perfectly capable of dealing with an intruder if any happened to come by during her absence.

"Baby girl." Gemma tsked, not budging the last lock. "Next time you leave the Prospect home alone, why don't you make sure he's not zonked out on painkillers first?"

Mattie gritted her teeth. "Fuck me. His next dose isn't for another three hours. I've already had to refill his prescription twice and the girl at the pharmacy is going to think I'm some sort of junkie."

Half-Sack tried to recuperate on his own, but after nearly burning down his shithole apartment with a hot plate while completely fucked up, he'd made a phone call to Mattie and asked if she'd take care of him. Never one to turn away a friend- or prospect- in need, she'd set him up on the couch, where he'd been ever since. Now she was beginning to think he planned on taking up a permanent residence in her living room. Or at least while Tig was gone- read: in prison- the kid had forged himself a comfy spot.

Gemma finally allowed Mattie inside her own house, and the Queen made sure to pointedly secure all the locks while keeping her gaze trained on Matt the entire time. Shit. She couldn't remember what she'd done wrong- besides not locking the front door- or if she'd forgotten about some long ago promise she'd pledged. Maybe Gemma found out about the little chat Mattie had with David Hale, which honestly made a lot of sense considering how well the Deputy Chief kept his goddamn mouth shut.

"I was going to ask if you could handle watchin' Ellie and Kenny a couple days until we get shit sorted out, but it looks like you're already babysitting." Gemma remarked, pointing towards the kitchen. "Took the liberty of making myself some coffee."

"I don't mind." She replied idly, walking past the Queen to pull out the chilled bottle of water she'd purposely stuck in the freezer before going running.

"Which? The coffee or the kids?"

"Both are fine by me. Mary's gone for good?"

"Surprised she stuck around as long as she did." Gemma's tone was light but Mattie knew that she there were accusations hiding within her words. Mary Winston was never much of a mother. Not as bad as Reese, though. Had to give the woman that.

"Me too." Mattie took a long swig out of the frozen slush. The over exercise was starting to flare in her legs. Tomorrow morning, she probably wouldn't be able to get out of bed. "But that's not why you came here in the middle of the afternoon. Especially with everything that's going on."

Gemma smirked. "You're right. I, uh, talked to Rosen this morning. Then I got a call from Clay, too. About bail."

"How bad?"

"Five hundred thou a head."

Mattie bit the inside of her cheek to stop her jaw from dropping. "Jesus fucking Christ. For weapons charges? That's ridiculous!"

What goddamn judge in their right mind would set bail that high? Fuck. The lawyer part of Mattie's mind was beginning to fret, churning up ideas and sorting them according to quality. How well did she know the San Joaquin legal system? Only judge she could think of was Hale's father and he wasn't likely to be of any help. Mattie never took California's bar exam so she was pretty much useless too. Morada's cops wouldn't want to share any info- wasn't like Charming PD where she could go down to the station, ask Unser for the evidence files and analyze them to her heart's content. Or maybe she could convince Rosen to let her take a look at them? No, they'd never been fond of one another and that last time they'd had a face to face she'd called him an insipid asshole.

Mattie Cardinal, always burning those bridges.

Shit. Judging by Gemma's inquisitive stare, she was watching the silent conversation roll across Mattie's face. "On account of there being families at the rally or some bullshit like that. Tara and I are going to put our houses up for bond, but that'll only free Clay and maybe Jax, and you know those two are only gonna leave when all their brothers are going home."

"I'll put my house up, too." Mattie offered instantly. Prison wasn't a place for men without protection, and with all the power that Zobelle had, she was sure that he'd have plenty of his AB lackeys inside those barbed wire walls looking to take down a Son.

Gemma's mouth tightened and Mattie knew something was wrong. Her house wasn't worth that much, but it should've been enough to grant freedom to another Son.

"Baby, when Clay called this morning, he told me…" The Queen took a second to find her phrasing, and then continued in a no nonsense manner, "Tig doesn't want to you to list your house as collateral."

"I don't fucking care what he wants. It's my house. I pay the mortgage. He doesn't get a say." Mattie was speaking more out of fear than bravery, which Gemma seemed to understand.

"Apparently Tig made himself very clear to Clay. No matter what, your house doesn't get touched. And sweetheart, I know your intentions are good, but I'm not gonna go against my husband." Gemma put a hand on her shoulder, but Mattie shrugged it off.

Cocky bastard. Trying to tell her what to do from fucking prison. Fuck that. Mattie's name was on the deed, not Tigger's, and that meant she could do whatever she goddamn wanted with the thing. Burn it, flood it, give it away. Didn't matter. It was hers and if she needed to take a risk in order to get him back, then she was going to. God, she fucking loved that man and the last thing she needed to hear was that he'd taken a sharpened toothbrush to the kidneys because she hadn't helped to get the MC out of Stockton fast enough.

Mattie couldn't handle losing him. Not when she could've prevented it and he would know that and that's why he went through Clay instead of going straight to her- she'd _have_ to listen to Clay. Fucking blue-eyed asshole who knew her too goddamn well. When Tig came home, she'd rip him a new asshole- after she fucked his brains out. They'd gotten in a quickie the morning before he went away- old lady speak for 'got taken away to jail' even though she wasn't really an OL- but whenever she was pissed at him it usually made her abnormally horny.

That was probably because Tig ended most of their early arguments with sex so good it still made her toes curl. He'd conditioned her with sex. Mattie wondered if it'd been intentional.

"So what are we going to do?" Mattie asked, throwing her hands in the air.

"I'm not sure yet." Gemma set her coffee mug in the sink. "Came over to deliver the news. And Tigger's message."

Wait a second. Mattie had something else she could offer up as collateral, an item that Tig hadn't even thought about when deciding what she was and was not allowed to do.

"I know it's not worth nearly as much as the house, but what about my car? The Mercedes? That's gotta be worth something to somebody." And if that didn't work, Mattie probably had some jewelry upstairs that she could hock and get a decent chunk of change for. What about her engagement ring from Patrick? That damn diamond was probably worth a couple thousand dollars…

"Mattie." Gemma sighed. "You think that's a good idea?"

"I've been using the pickup lately. Losing the Benz wouldn't upset my day to day life."

"You wouldn't lose the car. Only if they fuck up their bond agreement." Yeah. _Only_. If Tigger didn't want Mattie to put her house up, he must've had some fear that the club wasn't going to play nice with the legal system.

"I know."

"And if Tig catches wind of your devious plan, baby girl, I'm sure you've got some fucking gowns in your closet worth their weight in silk charmeuse." Gemma grinned. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"It's not the whole truth. But I doubt the bondsmen want some dresses when they could have a nearly new Mercedes." Mattie replied sheepishly, figuring the MC Queen was going to insult her clothing again. When she was a kid, she was too much of a tomboy. Now that she was grown, her clothes were too froufrou. Mattie could never please Gemma.

She just shrugged in reply, and Mattie knew she'd gotten off to the hook though not how it happened. "You been the hospital to see Chibs?"

Fuck. Could Mattie have some warning before they jetsetted from one uncomfortable topic to another? Was that allowed?

"I went earlier this morning. He was still asleep so I just stayed for a little while before jetting."

Despite the bandage wound around his head, Chibs looked sweet all swaddled with itchy hospital blankets. Mattie still wasn't sure what she'd say to him if he ever was awake when she visited, but she found herself able to relax in his slumbering presence. Before she was all fumbling hands and nervous pacing, unable to stop venting her feverish energy. Of course not. She'd almost kissed him- or been kissed, she didn't know the difference and didn't want to think about it anymore because it gave her both a headache and indigestion- and then been mostly responsible for his accident. What the fuck was there to discuss after that? _Hey, sorry you were nearly blown up and let's not discuss how awkward our relationship is going to be from this point forward. _Yeah. That'd work.

"Tara said he was most responsive in the early evenings. That'd be a good time to head to St. Thomas." Gemma was doing that thing where she said something without really saying it and Mattie was sure it was a subtle comment on her relationship with Chibs, which inhabited the not-quite-friends and the not-quite-something-more quadrant.

"I might try and go over later, then." A long pause, and before Mattie could consider what she was asking, "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course."

Christ. Mattie didn't share. She didn't ask for other people's opinions, especially when it concerned something so personal. Not anymore. Sure, if she was sixteen, she'd be seated at the kitchen table at the Teller-Morrow's venting her little heart out, but shit, it'd been a long time since then. Mattie ruminated. She hemmed and hawed. She did not ask for advice. Especially when the woman she was speaking to could at any time go and tell Tigger what she'd almost done.

Sounded stupid when she phrased it that way. Almost done. Their lips hadn't met and Chibs barely touched her, but Tig would see the whole situation as utter betrayal. Mattie saw it as a mistake made out of emotional and mental exhaustion. She should've stopped it, and would've if Hale hadn't fucked up her entire world with a simple declaration, but her head was in the wrong place and Chibs' mouth was in the wrong place and it'd all gone wrong. A mixture of her timidity and his boldness and now she was feeling guilty as fuck and she hadn't technically done anything wrong. Mattie still loved Tigger. Nothing changed, but at the same time, everything did.

Might it have been better if Chibs actually leaned in all the way and kissed her? Would she have resolved some of her feelings by now? Probably not, but a girl could wonder.

"A week and a half ago, on the day of the… of Chibs' accident, we went out to lunch. Right before then, actually. Wasn't planned. We just ran into one another and decided to go to Mel's Diner."

"You ran into him at the office?" Gemma was already suspicious.

"I stepped out to run an errand. He was picking up that tow. We were stuck at the same traffic light and he waved me down." Mattie explained, and thought that her throat was swelling shut. Well that was probably just psychosomatic but didn't stop her from reconsidering what she was about to say. "I was having a really terrible day and he was trying to cheer me up, and after lunch, we were in the parking lot, walking back to the trucks. I think I said I was cold and he put his scarf around my neck. Y'know how he is sometimes, any excuse to get close."

"And?"

"Chibs had me against Tig's pickup, like pressed against the door inadvertently, and he ran a hand down my side and up to my cheek and I should've known what he was going to do but I just stood there while he settled in and tried to kiss me. He stopped, though, right before our lips touched. Just pulled away like nothing happened." She covered her mouth. "And I feel so fucking guilty about it, Gemma. I don't know whether I should or not."

The Queen took a deep breath, and then cast a glance towards the living room. Sack was still sleeping, a quilt pulled up to his chin. Their conversation would have no observers.

"You've been playing with fire." Gemma stated, matter of fact. "Chibs doesn't want to be your friend. He's never wanted to be your friend. He thinks that if he's close to you, the moment you and Tig go bust- if you go bust- he's got front row tickets to your vacant pussy."

Mattie's chest tightened. Was Gemma right? Did Chibs only want to sleep with her? Just some impossible conquest for him to brag about- _hey did I ever tell you guys about the time I fucked Tigger's girlfriend_- an eventual notch on his bedpost. But they got along so well. That back and forth they were so good at, their natural rapport combined with matching interests. He was always asking her questions, trying to get deeper inside her head- that was a lot of work for a man just looking to score. Christ, Chibs was the first friend Mattie made in a long time. To find out everything was in her head… Mattie didn't know how she would handle it.

"I don't know." She admitted. "Maybe you're right, Gem. You always are."

"You're not gonna tell Tigger, right?"

"I haven't decided. I'm afraid of what he'd do if he found out. Probably tear me apart." Or worse. How many times would he have to threaten to kill her before the year was out?

"Baby girl, Chibs'll wind up with two holes in his head. One from the asphalt, the other from Tig. And you'll be chained to this house for the rest of your life."

"I doubt that. He'd escort me out of Charming." Mattie had no delusions about the kind of reception she'd get from Tigger if she ever decided to really cheat on him. Mr. Double Standard was allowed to sample any and all of the croweaters, while she had to remain chaste.

"We don't need anymore hard times, Matt. Take care of this. Understand me?" Gemma lifted an eyebrow, daring Mattie to refuse.

"Done."

"Good." Gemma picked up her purse from the kitchen table. "Now I've gotta clean up some other shit storms, so if you could stay out of trouble for a little while, I'd really prefer it."

"I'll try my best."

"Baby girl, let's just put it this way, if you wind up in jail, you're on your own."

That wasn't true, but Mattie nodded anyway. "Okay.

Mattie walked Gemma to the door, watching as she climbed in her SUV and drove back towards the main drag. Half-Sack stirred then, almost rolling off the couch as she strolled back into the living room. Blonde hair all messed, his eyes slow from sleep and his drugs. Kind of like Moby when he got up from a nap- minus the painkillers, of course.

He nodded when she told him her plans, but she was pretty sure he was going to wrap himself back up and shut his eyes again. Shower, hospital, dinner. And a potentially awkward conversation. If Chibs was awake.

Mattie kind of wished she could drag down another blanket and nap on the other sofa. Nope. Couldn't do that.

Had to swallow both her pride and fear and ask a man whether she was a friend or a conquest.

* * *

><p>Chibs heard the rickety meal cart roll down the hall, passing his room without any hesitation. Damn. The doctors hadn't allowed him solid foods yet, especially after a particularly nasty episode with some chicken broth, but he was jonesing for some jello. Radioactive lime green, blood red cherry, nuclear waste orange, Christ, he didn't care. Something more substantial than whatever was dripping in his IV. He dreamed of hams and roast beef, accompanied by a side of potatoes and finished with a thick slice of chocolate cake.<p>

He was hungry.

Lonely, too. Apparently all his visitors were either in jail- he picked a _great_ time to get sidelined- or came when he was sleeping. Tara popped by occasionally to check on him, but their conversations were mostly health related. He didn't blame her, she had other patients to take care of and then a son to go home to, but god, hospital life was boring. Aside from Gemma's daily updates and Tara's quick informative chats, Chibs' was going stir crazy.

He flipped through the channels again, hoping for something other than the evening news- he didn't know why they aired two solid hours of the shit before primetime television, considering they just repeated the same stories over and over again- or reruns of _Friends_. One of the lone cable channels usually aired a marathon of _Law and Order_, and yes, that was a mark of how desperate he was.

A quick knock at the door distracted Chibs from his pursuit of better programming and he turned. He was pleasantly surprised.

"Gemma!" He said in a booming voice-though it came out in a croak- glad for the company. The Queen shook her head-grinning all the while- at the response.

She kissed his forehead. "How ya feeling, sweetheart?"

"Shitty. Bored. Tired." Chibs could keep going, but he figured those top three complaints were enough.

"Yeah, I can imagine. If you wanna sleep, go ahead. I'll catch on my," She glanced up at the television, "_Sex in the City_? Shit, honey, you sure they didn't remove your balls by accident while they were tinkering with your head?"

Chibs expected the jab. "I was flipping through the channels when you walked in."

"Sure. I bet you were." The Queen went over to the miniscule closet in the corner and set her jacket inside. He couldn't sense the difference inside the hospital, but apparently the nights were getting colder. Summer was, unfortunately, slipping away and giving up its footing to fall. Autumn in Charming was one of those strange seasons, warm during the day and chilly after dark, sometimes requiring an outfit change in between.

"And I'm sure I can keep my eyes open for a visit with my favorite old lady." He called across the room to her, his attempt to shout making his head ache just a tad. Maybe he should take the volume down.

"Oh, I don't think I'm your favorite old lady. I think a certain curly haired lawyer takes top spot."

Chibs might regret his decision to stay awake. "I don't remember her having either a crow or a ring."

Gem raised an eyebrow. "And do you really thinks she needs them?"

"I just think-"

"And were you thinking in the diner parking lot?"

Chibs' mind whirled for half a second, trying to remember when the hell he let those details spill, whether he said something when he was under, if Tig heard- but he knew it was impossible. There was only one other source Gemma could've gotten her information, and no matter how unlikely it was that Mattie would've said anything, Chibs couldn't figure out an alternative.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn't even seen Mattie since the accident, and while part of him was glad not to have to deal with the awkwardness between them while there was a hole in his head, the rest of him wanted her at his side all day and night, weeping for him, caring for him. The nurses would comment upon her steadfastness and he'd say, 'that's my Mattie,' and they'd grin knowingly while going about their business. And that wasn't to say that Matt had been completely MIA, both Gem and Tara said she'd been by plenty, just always when his eyelids were shut. Ships passing in the night.

He wouldn't blame her if she were avoiding him. That day in the parking lot, he'd gone too far, pushed her against the truck with no way to flinch away even if she wanted to. But Chibs reveled in their rare closeness, the feeling of her skin under his hand, her breath against his cheek. He'd been filled with the smell of her and the feel of her, gotten bold off the high. Manipulated the situation far past its boundaries.

Would she have kissed him back? If his lips landed on hers, if he hadn't lost his nerve at the very last second. Mattie was Tig's. That's the thought that invaded his mind, the reminder that the girl he wanted so badly belonged to another man and that wasn't liable to change, no matter how hard he kissed her. And he wanted to do things right. A relationship wasn't going to bud because of a stolen kiss in a parking lot. Not with Mattie. She might be secretive but Chibs wasn't stupid.

Yeah, secretive. So what the fuck was with Mattie talking to Gemma about it? Since when did she go to anybody for advice?

"She told you." He would've asked, but stating it felt better.

"Yeah. I don't know why," She sent him a glance that said _you know how she is_, and did he ever, "but she did. Do you have anything to say?"

"No."

"Well, I do, sweetheart, and you're not gonna like it." Gemma pulled a chair towards the side of his bed closer to the door. "You know you gotta lay off this shit, right?"

"Why? Because of Tig?"

Her mouth was set in a sudden, straight line. "Abso-fucking-lutely. What did you think would happen, Chibs? You think you lay a kiss on her and she'll automatically say, hey, fuck you, Tigger, I got a new man?"

"I don't know." If he'd known being awake for more than ten minutes today meant he'd get lectured, he would've just slept into tomorrow.

"Well, she's never gonna leave him. I'm sorry, baby, she just isn't." Gemma shrugged, leaning back in her seat but still looking all business. "Kissing her isn't going to change that simple fact. If you'd fucked her, even. Nothing would change."

"I didn't kiss her. I didn't so I don't know what the big fucking deal is." He closed his eyes. Was it time for his painkillers yet?

"The big deal is this has to end. Because sooner or later Tig's gonna find out about all the sneaky shit you're doing and he's going to fucking explode."

"And that's supposed to frighten me?" He couldn't help himself. "Tig's all talk and no action when it comes to his threats."

The Queen shook her head. "You don't understand how protective he is of Mattie."

"Territorial." Chibs corrected, noticing her nostrils flare. Apparently Gemma figured he'd accept her strongly worded advice without questioning it. Hadn't done it with Jimmy O- he'd initially stood his ground and still ended up fucked- wouldn't do it now.

"Maybe. Doesn't change the facts." She caught his gaze. "I'm not trying to break your heart, baby. I'm just trying to get you to see how stupid you're making yourself look. As a Son, as a man, all around. You're better than this."

Chibs wasn't pathetic. He wasn't following Matt around like a little lost puppy; he hadn't sent her any bouquets of roses or left her unsigned love letters. He flirted with her, sure. Pressed his luck plenty of times. _What color panties you wearing today, lovely?_ he'd ask, standing too close. Mattie never answered him, of course not, even if she was feeling cheeky the most he'd get in return was _wouldn't you like to know_. And there was time she'd bent over to change that car's oil… Yeah, he'd been staring at her ass. So what? So fucking what? He was a man, she was a woman, and he was attracted to her. He had fun with her. What was wrong with that? What warranted Gemma coming to the hospital and warning him to stay away from Mattie?

Well, Chibs knew. Of course he knew. The kiss in the fucking parking lot. No, the near-kiss because his lips never met hers. They never met hers and things had still changed. He'd say everything was blown out of proportion but… shit. Like Gemma said, Tig and Mattie were a done deal. In spite of everything, he still doubted Tig loved her as much as Gem insisted he did, but Chibs knew Mattie loved Tigger. He didn't understand why, and probably never would- everyone said if he'd been there at the beginning, he'd be able to see, but he wasn't sure he'd ever believe it.

"And it's not just you, Chibs. It's Matt too, but you know how fucking hard it is to talk to her, especially when it's something she don't wanna hear." Gemma smirked, "Guess she mighta got that from me."

"Taught her to keep secrets, too?" _Or how to lie_, he left unsaid, but implied.

"No. Think she figured that one out on her own." She tilted her head dangerously, "And I wouldn't talk about keeping secrets if I were you. A secret wife and child trumps whatever Mattie isn't telling you."

His stomach twisted. He'd blame it on the lack of real food but he knew that wasn't the cause of the discomfort. "I haven't _not_ told her."

Chibs wasn't sure why he hadn't. Well, in some ways he was, but he hadn't heard much about Mattie's family outside the MC either. Especially her mother, unless a drunken Bobby complained about his sister and what she'd done to tear her family apart.

And perhaps that's the reason why he'd never told Mattie about Fiona and Kerrianne. He left them like a thief in the night after Jimmy cut him from cheek to cheek, a cowardly move that was supposed to save his girls. Only managed to cause him near constant worry, because as they said, the devil you know is worse than the devil you don't- though if he'd stayed in Ireland, they'd likely all be dead. Hard to defend oneself with almost hundred stitches and a hardcore buzz from the all the morphine. Add in all of Jimmy's goons and Chibs could nearly convince himself he'd done the right thing for his family, but he hadn't gotten there yet. Never would, he supposed.

So how was Mattie, who'd been abandoned by her mother at age seven, supposed to find sympathy for Chibs, who'd abandoned his own daughter when she wasn't much older? Any pity she directed his way would be false, so he didn't even bother divulging that part of his past. Mattie had her lies, he had his. If she ever suspected him of hiding the truth, she never pointed it out. Chibs didn't know whether that was reassuring or something else entirely.

"What, she's supposed to ask?" She retorted, "No more of this 'secrets' bullshit. Everybody has them and everybody wants to keep them close. What, you think if you force her into spilling hers, she'll what, fall for you? Like I said, even if you managed, it's never going to happen."

"Because she loves Tig. I get it."

"No. You don't." Gemma shot back, leaning forward, ready to wage verbal battle. "She will _never_ be in love with anyone else. She was married, for fuck's sake, and she still came back to Tigger. Six years went by and she still loved him. You cannot change that, baby."

"She did leave, though. Doesn't that say anything?"

"Once, maybe. Not anymore. Not with how things are." She sighed. "I love you, but I can't watch this anymore. I won't."

_Filip, those little ripples you make will turn into tidal waves_, Fiona used to say. He hated his wife, but she'd been right about that one.

"I haven't seen Mattie since… Since." Chibs admitted. "Haven't been awake to see her, at least."

"She's been by, promise you, especially at first. Actually planned to visit tonight but something happened with Lowell and his ex-wife, so Matt's watching Moby." _Like always_ hung unsaid. "She was thinking about bringing him, but I convinced her it wasn't a good idea."

"I see." Chibs figured Gemma offered her advice specifically to deter Mattie from coming to the hospital- wouldn't do if the two women intersected by accident.

"She's got a lot on her plate. The garage, Moby, Tig and," The Queen shook her head with a smile, "The Prospect conned her into taking care of him while his ball heals."

"Of course." He'd predicted that one. "That's gotta be a full time job."

"You'd think, but he's passed out on her couch. Tigger's gonna be thrilled to see that when he comes home."

It hit Chibs, once again, that while he was sitting in the hospital bored with a hole in his head, the rest of the guys were fighting for their safety in Stockton. Pissed him off that he couldn't be there along with them, gathering allies and watching their collective backs. Because of Zobelle, Chibs was fucking useless.

"How are they? Staying safe?"

Something dark crossed Gemma's features. "Yeah, baby. They're gonna be okay. Just looking for the financing to get them out."

"Wish I could do something."

"Get better." She commanded. "And take care of this shit."

Chibs took a deep breath. "I will." Somehow.

He fought all his instincts. Being told not to do something always made him do the opposite and it also always got him into trouble of various magnitudes. He was always ready for the outcome, even with the Jimmy/Fiona fiasco. Hadn't been pleasant- far fucking from it- but he couldn't say it surprised him.

Problem was, Chibs couldn't say what'd happen if he ignored Gemma's strongly worded advice, which was exactly what the too persuasive voice in the back of his mind had already decided upon.

He was such an asshole.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know it's been forever. Life just gets in the way sometimes. No worries, I haven't abandoned the story, just got a little distracted by the real world. Anyway, I guess I don't have a lot to say this author's note, but I'm thinking the next chapter will be a flashback and then after that several present chapters back to back- they run pretty concurrent to one another and breaking them up would just be confusing. As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, and please continue to review so I know what you think!**


	46. Chapter 46

_Everybody's gotta love someone_

_But, I just wanna love you, dear_

_Everybody's gotta feel something_

_I just wanna be with you, my dear_

_I know it's hard, I know it's hard_

_I know it's hard to be in this position_

_If they stop loving, I won't stop loving you_

_If they stop needing you, I'll still need you, my dear_

_If you fall asleep down by the water_

_Baby, I'll carry you all the way home_

_If you fall asleep down by the water_

_Baby, I'll carry you all the way home_

_Down by the Water – The Drums_

* * *

><p><strong>Summer, 1998 <strong>

At five thirty Monday evening, Tig let out a hearty sigh as a steel grey Honda Civic- Christ, he hated that car- pulled into the Teller-Morrow lot, slipping nearly unnoticed into one of the spots near the office. Two brunettes climbed out, both young, both pretty, neither aware of the tall man watching them from inside the garage. Which was good, because he had some choice words for one of them.

_Donna and I are going to spend a weekend at the beach_, she said. _No, we don't need a chaperone_, she said. _We'll be back before noon on Monday, _she said. Well, the most important of those three promises- promises? Guarantees? Or did those mean the same thing?- hadn't come true so in his mind, it invalidated the other two. Especially considering she was late by more than five goddamn hours and there'd been all sorts of fucked up scenarios running through his head. He'd spent most of the day worrying about car accidents, tidal waves, kidnappers, rapists and murderers. Most of them were completely ridiculous- in a particularly anxious moment he'd combined a few situations and had to take a shot or two to rid himself of the resulting images- and made him feel like an asshole.

_We both gotta remember she can take care of herself,_ Book said Friday night. Mattie and Donna had left earlier in the afternoon but she'd forgotten to call when the pair arrived at their motel and Tig'd gotten into an argument with her on the phone- it was just a clusterfuck. Tired of wringing his hands together, he'd put a bottle of whiskey in one and a clean glass in the other and just _drank_. Book was the only Son bold enough to offer anything beyond a pitying glance- well, some could've been incredulous or irritated or really anything else, by the time he noticed the looks he was far too wasted to actually process them- and the only one willing to take the seat next to him at the bar.

Book had let off steam in the ring, him and Happy trading friendly blows or else he'd also be fretting over his daughter and her out of town whereabouts. The Nomad was stopping in Charming on his way from Fresno to Rogue River, and Redwood tradition called for any Friday visitors to participate in that night's fights. There was no winner, Book was in too good a mood to annihilate Hap- Reese was going on some sort of a retreat, so he'd soon get George for a whole week- and Hap had too much respect to go after a man who wasn't really interested in fighting. Otto called the match in favor of his boredom, and then gave the ring to two drunk hang-arounds who beat the shit out of each other to impress a sweetbutt they both had their eye on. Tig thought about finding somebody to decimate but that was far too much effort for the amount of liquor he'd consumed, plus he figured he wouldn't be able to throw a proper punch anyway.

He'd considered finding Jax and getting some payback for Mattie's bruise- it'd healed nicely and no longer made it look like she was a battered woman, which was good because he was getting some pretty serious glares when they were out in public- but she'd want to be around for that. Matt hadn't spoken to Jax since the incident and really, Tig wasn't all that surprised. Well, that wasn't completely true, she did _speak_ to him but the words probably weren't what Jax wanted to hear. He mistakenly tried to get her alone, but she twisted around and hissed _what makes you think I want to talk to you right now_, which made Tigger more proud than he could possibly express.

After Tig's half-explored ideas of vengeance- he'd gotten some the Friday before, but it wasn't anything worth bragging about, just a few sloppy punches before Otto pulled them out of the ring- Book had sat down with his wise words and easy reassurances. Thumped him hard on the shoulder- subtly trading Tig's whiskey for a beer- and told him Mattie was an adult whether he liked it or not, and she was allowed to go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted without permission. This included a spontaneous weekend spent at the beach with her best friend.

_Trust me, if I can adjust to you fuckin' my only daughter, you can adjust to Mattie runnin' about, doin' her thing. _

Tig might've been drunk, but he definitely recognized the peace offering.

He finished up with the Buick he'd been tinkering with all day- bay four had the most straightforward view of the gate- wiping his hands on a half-clean rag before walking out to her car, where the two girls were shaking out their towels. They wore nearly the same sundress in different colors- Mattie in kelly green, Donna in periwinkle- bathing suits still on underneath, which affirmed his suspicion they'd gone swimming one last time after checking out of their motel. Accounted for their lateness, and it helped to settle the pit in his stomach.

Mattie's back was to him as he approached, though he had no doubt she could hear his work-booted footfalls. But it was Donna who caught his gaze first and gave him a curt nod- Tig had got the feeling he wasn't one of her favorite people and that was before he heard her very special nickname for him.

There were no hard feelings, because honestly, how many people would have the balls to call Tig Trager an asshole?

"I'm gonna go find Opie, let him know I'm home." Donna looked towards the garage, where her boyfriend and Jax were flinging oil at one another, amending, "I'm going to go into the clubhouse and wait for him to change out of his uniform, _then_ let him know I'm home."

"Tell me if you decide to get a ride home with him or if you need me to take you. I don't mind either way." Mattie called after her best friend as she walked away, Donna answering by waving her hand in the air.

Tig leaned his hip against her car, coolly crossing his arms over his chest. In these closer quarters it was easy to make out the sunburned tops of her cheeks and shoulders, normally pale skin colored pink. Mattie didn't tan, she just burnt and then freckled, and he could already see the speckles blooming on her nose.

She realized he wasn't budging and took those last steps forward, tucking herself against him, fitting her hips underneath his. It was a comfortable, natural pose, and Tig involuntarily ran one hand over her shoulder to rest on the nape of her neck. The sunburn must've been a few days old because she didn't flinch at his rough touch, in fact, she leaned into it.

"Hi." Mattie greeted simply, grinning up at him.

"Hey." He replied.

She pivoted onto her tiptoes, kissing him softly. A plea for him to forgive her lateness, a reminder of all things he'd been missing while she was away- and _Christ_, did he miss having her perpetually between his sheets. Memories of her sleeping naked at his side that had plagued him all weekend flooded hot and heavy with the pressure of her lips, and he eagerly split them with his tongue. She still had that saltwater tang in her mouth, still smelled of sunblock and something citrus-y he couldn't place, still had grains of sand hiding in her curls.

He only pulled away when Clay catcalled across the lot, boisterously asking whether he'd found something interesting inside Mattie's mouth and would he like to share his findings with the class. Tig responded by good-naturedly flipping him the bird, ignoring Kozik's accompanying wolf whistle.

Less than two weeks ago, all Tig could do was glance in Mattie's direction. He could look at her and fantasize about her but he wasn't allowed to touch her, especially not in the presence of his brothers. But things had changed, gotten quieter, less tumultuous. Time altered opinions, he guessed, or perhaps they'd proved their relationship wasn't as perverted as everyone originally believed it would be.

Thinking that while pressing the bulge in his jeans against the curve of her belly probably wasn't proving his point very well.

"You're late." Tig still wasn't ready to let bygones be bygones.

"I know." Mattie flippantly declared, and if she hadn't punctuated it with a smirk, his anger might've flared again.

"What happened to being home by noon?"

"Well, since we were coming from San Francisco," Tig rolled his eyes. All last week Matt and Donna were sniping back and forth about their specific beach destination, one wanting to go to Monterey, the other to Carmel-by-the-Sea- which were literally fifteen minutes away from each other anyway- before Book finally suggested Baker Beach in San Fran, where the SAMCRO babies used to go to as children. "We stopped by Berkeley on the way home. Drove around, stopped for a bite to eat, looked in on a lecture. Just to get a feel for things, y'know?"

Goddamn college. Wouldn't she be spending enough time there soon enough?

"Thought you were stuck on the side of the road or something."

"Sorry, baby." Mattie ran her fingers over the name embroidered on his work shirt, slowly tracing the _T-i-g _over his chest. It was a nice attempt at distraction. "I figured if I was back before dark, you wouldn't worry."

"You're just fucking lucky your dad is with Otto in Oakland or you'd have most of the west coast charters searching for your ass." Tig decided to downplay his own worries. "But it's good you checked out the school, because I bet you decided just to stay in Charming this fall."

It was half-teasing, because part of him really would prefer it if Mattie didn't go away to college. Berkeley wasn't far from Charming, but the idea of all that space between them… just unsettled him. He realized she needed to spread her wings and find independence all sorts of other hippy-dippy self-help bullshit and the only way she could really do it was to get away from the heavy influence of her hometown and the MC. He got it. He knew she was maybe a little too sheltered inside the confines of the club. Mattie needed to make her own mistakes and fix them by herself, but remembering what had happened the two times she'd gone out on her own before just made Tig want to batten down the hatches and keep her safe as possible.

He took a deep mental breath. What happened in the fall- picking her up from that stupid club, keeping her out of a car destined to flip and wrap itself around a telephone pole- would never happen again. Mattie would never get into another car with a drunk driver. She'd been scared straight after seeing the newspaper article about her classmates' fates. So Tig didn't necessarily have to worry about Mattie making another poor decision. And he very much doubted any members of the AB would go looking for her at school- the club had taken care of Hirsch's entire crew anyway- but it wasn't so far-fetched to think the Sons' enemies kept tabs on anyone associated with the club. Hell, Kozik had files on the Mayans, the Nords, even the Niners- just in case. And sometimes, when it came to running guns and feuds between different factions, just in case was more like whenever the information was needed, which seemed to be much too often of late.

Or Tig might be worked up because he was in love with Mattie and that made him a little- okay, _a lot_- overprotective. Just a thought.

"Nice try." Mattie shook her head. "And if I didn't go to Berkeley, I'd be heading to New York the last week of August, which I think is just a tad further than you'd like."

"I'd chain you to my fucking bed." He growled in response, dipping his head down to rest his forehead against hers.

"And what makes you think I wouldn't appreciate that?" She asked, her voice husky. "I love to sleep and I love sleeping with you, so it's really an optimal situation."

"And you love me…"

When Tig said it, he didn't intend for it to be a test, but aloud, that's how it sounded. And Mattie's lips were parted, ready to confirm or deny and all of sudden he just didn't want to know, because it was too soon to answer with his own feelings- even if he'd had those seemingly for-_fucking_-ever.

"Tigger-"

Another loud whistle from Kozik severed her response. "Yo! We gotta roll!"

"What?" Tig demanded, watching his brothers quickly assemble. Most of them were, like him, still wearing their TM uniforms and were at the lockers, tossing off work shirts and grabbing cuts. Mattie pushed him towards the garage with a simple nod and the heels of her hands. She understood the importance of whatever called the Sons to action.

"Trouble followed the boys back from Oakland. Looks like the Grim Bastards had more enemies than they thought."

"Dad's in Oakland." Tig didn't miss the thread of terror in her too high-pitched tone that might've gone unidentified to anybody else.

Turning, feverishly fighting the buttons on his shirt, he called back to her, "We'll come back whole."

When he rode out of the parking lot, Mattie stood with Gemma in the doorway of the office, the older woman's arm around her shoulder. Mattie's body language didn't give anything away, but the wrinkle in her forehead said enough.

* * *

><p>St. Thomas hummed around Mattie. The tinny voice of a receptionist filled the air as a Dr. Whistler was paged to the ICU. Two grandmothers discussed the merits of gifting an oversized teddy bear over a bunch of balloons attached a potted plant, wandering away from the gift shop empty handed. A child played Super Mario Bros. at full volume on his Gameboy, moaning and groaning as levels were lost.<p>

All she wanted was silence.

The positions in the room rotated, Sons shifting seats and the responsibility of being by her side. Happy sunk into the spot with a grunt, knocking his knee against hers. It was his rendition of a comforting embrace, and she appreciated its noninvasiveness- Hobart had her hand in a death grip for fifteen minutes and she was still working the kinks out of her knuckles- and the reassurance of his looming presence. Earlier, a nurse walked in asking about emergency contacts and questioning the appropriateness of having nearly a dozen outlaws in the post-surgical ward and Hap simply glared at her before she shut her mouth and left.

Mattie wished she couldn't remember Gemma's one-sided phone call. She wished she couldn't remember the drive to St. Thomas or the hours-long wait in the emergency room. She wished she couldn't remember the elevator ride up to the fifth floor or being stowed away inside something called a 'visitor's solarium'- basically a waiting room with a coffee maker- until a doctor came to speak to them. She wished she couldn't remember somebody derisively announcing _fuck that shit_ before being escorted down the hallway by a number of leather outfitted men.

But she did remember. She _did_ and knew she wouldn't forget because it wasn't how her memory worked, she recalled the bad just as clearly- sometimes more so- as the good and nothing would ever change that. The summer of 1998 would forever be the summer she first slept with Tig.

It'd also be the same summer he got shot.

One bullet caught him harmlessly in the thigh but the other hit his ribs and bounced around, but she didn't know how severe the damage was. The doctors hadn't told them much of anything. One said he lost a lot of blood, another reported that he'd be in surgery a while longer because of complications- not the source of the complications or the problems they caused, just a dismissive mention before she continued her rounds.

"You gonna call his kids?" Happy nudged Mattie with his elbow to get her attention off the empty bed.

"I got in touch with Colleen."

"And?"

She shook her head dismissively. "It's Colleen."

"Bitch didn't care?"

"Of course not."

In hindsight, it might've been a better idea for Gemma or even Luann to call Colleen, since they might've received a modicum of respect from Tig's ex-wife. When Mattie called, Colleen laughed at her- _oh, so what can I do for you, Little Miss Perfect?_- then refused to allow her children to see their father- _I don't care if he's drawing his last breath, I'm not going to alter the twins' schedule- _before hanging up without so much as a goodbye. If Mattie had been in a different mood, she'd have been tempted to drive out to Oakland to ask what the fuck Colleen's problem was. Instead, she sighed and went back inside to the bleak emergency waiting room. It'd been before the group was moved up to what would eventually be Tig's suite- it had a mini refrigerator and a couch, which apparently bumped it up from a regular hospital room.

"Dumb cunt." Happy pronounced without much venom in his tone, like it was a simple, yet strongly worded declaration.

"Yeah." Mattie agreed. "Dad stick you with supervisory duties?"

Happy, designated babysitter. If the situation were different, the idea would've put a smile on her face.

"Nah. Just stickin' around 'til he and Koz are done with their precious intel." He snorted. "Koz already sittin' and lookin' pretty while your pop does all the work. He don't need me to bum around too."

Mattie didn't need to ask what her father and Kozik were looking for- she already knew. The man- the Mayan- who tried to kill a Son. By firing two shots, there was no denying the intent wasn't just to maim but to obliterate, and the SAMCRO punishment for attempted murder was swift and total retaliation. She'd seen enough retribution to remember how the routine was orchestrated.

Book hadn't wanted to leave her at the hospital but he realized she wouldn't be willing to go home to the clubhouse while he and Kozik dug up everything they could find about the Mayans' current operations- the Sons, scattered by the rival gang's attack and distracted by Tig's injuries, couldn't stop to find the man responsible without sacrificing more men or letting him bleed out. _It was too close to Charming_, Book said lowly, speaking solely to Mattie. _'92 all fuckin' over again. _

The first conflict- a voice in her head decided this provocation would cause a second, even if war had not been formally declared yet- with the Mayans was during the winter of 1992, when all the SAMCRO babies were still kids. She should've been too young to understand what was going on but she wasn't because children in the Sons of Anarchy were never really children from a mental or emotional standpoint. But in her mind, it was better to be prepared for what would happen. As an eleven-year-old girl, it'd have been too easy to be incapacitated by what she'd see.

Men died that year, good men she'd know her whole life wiped out in battles domestic and foreign. St. Thomas became a second home. And those who didn't require professional medical attention- those who weren't shot or stabbed and one particularly nasty occasion, intentionally run over by a Fed-ex truck- were stitched up at the clubhouse. She cleaned wounds while Jax and Opie fetched liquor and women for the injured until Gemma decided they'd had enough for the day. Hardly anybody left the clubhouse that year; at night the three of them holed up in one of the dorms, though there wasn't a lot of sleep to be had amongst the blood and sorrow just outside the door.

Now Jax and Opie were part of the MC. She was the sole innocent- if one could really use such a word to describe a girl who'd shot and killed a man not even six months ago- left in their trio, the only person left back at the clubhouse while they rushed to defend their club. She'd be alone in the dorms, without Opie's snores or Jax's midnight flailing. None of Jax's reassuring hubris- _dad, these sons of bitches sure do go down easy,_ he'd observed upon reading an article about a couple of dead Mayans in the paper- or Opie's quiet distractions- _bet we can't wash all these dirty dishes before the guys are back from Lodi_.

Or, Mattie might not even be in Charming to witness the carnage. Come August 27th, she'd be firmly in Berkeley, attending her first college class, miles removed from her hometown. If revenge weren't immediate- if the Mayans didn't give up Tig's attacker quickly- war would take a few weeks to brew. Small ambushes. Charters called into action as conflict escalated. They'd gather their non-SoA allies. Start to stockpile guns and ammunition. Collect debts to help grease the sheriffs' palms when bodies started to fall on both sides. Full-blown warfare was like climbing a hill, it took a while to get there, but once the club was over the precipice, there was no slowing down.

Six years later, after dozens of changes and half-truces put into place to prevent another confrontation, and none of it mattered.

There was activity by the door and she perked her head up, expecting to see Book and Kozik back from tracking down leads and making plans, but it was two San Joaquin sheriffs instead. Clay and Otto were with them, wearing dark expressions. The President and VP had been conferring with the Grim Bastards to be sure none of the details were missed, double checking to see if anybody had seen the gunman's face. Mattie guessed the answer was a no.

"Need to ask you boys a few questions about Mr. Trager's injuries." One of the sheriffs announced. He was red headed and stocky, thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his trousers authoritatively.

The shooting had occurred close to Charming, but not quite close enough for Unser to intervene, it seemed.

"You're more than welcome, but we're not leaving the room until our brother's back safe and sound." Clay said, falsely polite. He had no intention of telling the truth, and the whole club had likely rehearsed an official story for law enforcement.

"I'll take you one by one into the hallway." The other cop stepped in. He had a slight accent, maybe Haitian or Jamaican, and was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. His partner looked like a troll doll next to him. "And when Mr. Trager's out of surgery, I'll return you immediately."

"Because we'll have to take his statement." The ginger cut in.

"Sure, but I highly doubt he'll be lucid enough to remember the masked madman who assaulted him out of nowhere." Otto smirked knowingly at Mattie when she glanced at him. Definitely wasn't the first time the club mislead the police.

Happy was elected to go first, emptying the seat on her right. The room had broken up into clusters when the redhead walked in, the cop looking around with slight interest. Bobby and Piney conversed with Clay and Otto in one corner, quietly discussing what had happened with the Bastards. Jax and Opie kept watch by the door. Hobart was likely still at the entrance of the hospital, making sure everything was quiet. Obviously wasn't doing a great job, or they would've had some prior warning about the sheriffs, but that was for the club to deal with. Gem and Luann had made a trip down to the cafeteria to get coffee, but Mattie figured they'd stuck around to get a bite to eat. Luann tended to be shaky in times of crisis. Which left Mattie pretty much alone, although she didn't mind.

Perhaps she could shut her eyes and get a few minutes of sleep. They'd been at St. Thomas through the night and she'd stayed awake for all of it so now exhaustion was staring to bite her in the ass-

"Hello."

Mattie flicked her gaze up to the redheaded sheriff, instantly suspicious. She obviously wasn't a Son so what the fuck did he want with her?

"Hi." She retorted sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. Never had the time- or the forethought- to change out of the bikini and sundress she'd been wearing all day, so she felt exposed even if she was swimming in a sweatshirt Opie lent her earlier. Plus, she'd accidentally dripped a melted lemon Italian ice down her chest after lunch and she was still sticky. Perhaps if the circumstances were different, she'd be uncomfortable.

"You look a little out of place." He sat at her side, smiling in what he probably believed was a friendly way, but it unnerved her.

"I'm not."

"I'm Sheriff Cook. But you can call me Greg." Greg extended his hand, which she reluctantly grasped. "How do you know Mr. Trager?"

"Is this an official question?"

He chuckled. "No. Just curious."

Mattie didn't know how to explain their relationship to an outsider. Within club society, she and Tig didn't really need a word to describe what they had together, and really, there wasn't any conventional term which fit. So she went with what was easiest, what would put enough distance between her and Greg so he'd leave her the fuck alone.

"He's my boyfriend." She replied, feeling a little funny about the label.

His forehead instantly wrinkled, and he coughed sharply. "Well-"

"Hey, Matt, let's get a cup of coffee." Jax intervened, already pulling her up and out of her chair. He directed the next part to Greg, "I already checked with your partner and he doesn't mind."

The blonde led her down the hall, holding her hand. Mattie tried to pull away but he shot her a pointed look she easily interpreted- _trust me_. Reluctantly, she relaxed in his grasp, walking as naturally as possible at his side.

The hallway was cold, even with the added insulation of Opie's sweatshirt, and Mattie again wished she'd changed back at the clubhouse. She'd been on edge and trying to distract herself with a vodka cranberry with Donna at the bar, hoping her father would be back soon to explain what the hell was going on. She was worried about Book because he was alone with Otto and the Bastards, in her head, he was the one in immediate danger, not Tig. Tigger was part of the rescue crew, lending a hand to get the two men home safely. That's what she thought, sitting idly with her best friend, half listening to Gemma, Luann and Hobart's old lady shoot the shit- Precious sat with them, but she was too busy chugging margaritas to really join the conversation.

It'd been past midnight- no, past one, if she was remembering right- when they heard the sirens. Mattie swore to god she'd heard the gunshots, but there was no fucking way it was possible, the attack was too far away. She instantly knew something went wrong. One of the Sons was hurt and when the phone rang, her suspicions were proved correct.

Jax let go of her when the elevator doors lethargically shut, and Mattie supposed she should be annoyed at the contact but she couldn't find the anger she'd been able to summon since her birthday a little over a week ago. Could've been her anxiety or exhaustion or maybe, just maybe, she didn't have it in her to hold the grudge anymore.

The cafeteria was still quiet, like the morning shift hadn't clocked in quite yet. Neither Gemma nor Luann were around either, so either they'd missed them or the two women had gone outside for a cigarette. Dimly, Mattie wondered why they were allowed to roam without a chaperone while she needed to have a Son attached to her hip.

"Y'know, if you wanted a cup of milk and sugar, I'm sure they would've made it for you." Jax teased. "Might've been cheaper too."

He'd paid- she hadn't protested. "You sound like my dad."

"Well, you should drink it black. Puts hair on your chest."

Mattie smirked at him, "You've been drinking coffee since the fourth grade so what's your excuse?"

"Oh really? We're going to play dirty?" He leaned in conspiratorially, "Let's talk about those extracurricular trips you take to the Starbucks in Lodi-"

"It was once and it was on my way."

"Where were you going?"

Mattie deliberately took a long sip of her milk and sugar. "Starbucks."

"Needed a caramel frappy-whatever-whatever?" He tilted his head and bluntly asked, "Were you on the rag or something?"

Despite everything that'd happened between them, despite what'd happened to Tig, Mattie let her head fall back so she could laugh uninhibited. Jax's comment caught her off guard in the right way, hit her so squarely she couldn't help her reaction. Perhaps it was his intention.

"Sis?"

Mattie lifted an eyebrow. He never used that specific term of endearment unless he wanted something in return. "Yeah, _bro_?"

"The night of your birthday… I shouldn't have acted like that."

"It was more than just that night. You were an asshole from the moment you found out about Tig and I." It hurt to say his name.

"You lied to me. Tig too. Both of you said there was nothing and when there was, I felt like an idiot." Jax ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Plus, you're my kid sister and I didn't want to think about you fucking anybody, especially not him."

"That still doesn't justify what happened." She liked how being two years younger justified the identification as his 'kid sister'.

"I know. And I'm really goddamn sorry I hit you." He frowned, looking much older than twenty. "Shit, Mattie, I love you."

It'd been a long time since she'd heard a Jackson apology. Even as kids they only said their I'm sorries if forced to by Gemma or Book- occasionally JT rolled his eyes and acted as peacemaker, but usually he was too busy to worry about the feuds of children.

"I know." Mattie reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "And I love you. But I also love Tigger, and you're going to have to accept that."

She smiled inwardly. Her answer to Tig's earlier almost-question- _And you love me…_- was an overwhelming but self-conscious yes. They'd only been together formally for two weeks and three days, but their connection went back months- years, if she wanted to think in broad terms. Mattie couldn't pinpoint the moment when the switch had been flicked on inside of her, she couldn't remember segueing from simple attraction to hard, irresistible love. But it'd happened, effortlessly, and she didn't think she could turn it off even if she tried.

Mattie Cardinal fell in love with Tig Trager. Now she just needed to share the news with him.

Christ, he needed to be okay. He _needed_ to.

Tig promised the club would come back whole. And he knew how Cardinals felt about keeping promises.

"It's going to take a while for me to be okay with it." Jax finally said, raking a hand over his stubble.

"As long as you don't make it an issue, then I'm fine with that." Mattie replied, looking into her empty cup. The coffee had gone down too easy. "Truce?"

"Truce." He affirmed, shaking her hand. "So, you really love him?"

"I do."

He looked like he was still digesting the concept. "How are you doing?"

"I just want to know what the fuck is happening. I want somebody to tell me straight, y'know?" Mattie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent the prickle of tears she could sense loosening near her sinuses. "Either way, I want to know."

"He's a tough son of a bitch."

"I know."

"Besides, Tig's too stubborn to let some Mayan prospect kill him. He has to live to avenge the insult." Jax assured, getting up to refill their coffees. He rubbed his hand across her shoulders, playfully flicking the ties of her bathing suit before he walked away, leaving her to shake her head at his retreating form.

It'd been a long time Mattie and Jax had a heart-to-heart. Not since Tara left, although that'd mostly been a few weeks of drinking and getting into serious trouble- they'd gotten arrested for trespassing but Unser had handled it and she managed to get off with a warning, while Jax had to do some community service. The punishment from Gemma was worse, and she'd had prospect duties for two weeks. Gave her new appreciation for what the guys had to go through to be part of the club, but not much else.

The doctors wouldn't release any information because they weren't related to Tig. Shitty part was, the only family he had wouldn't come to see him- though Mattie couldn't really blame the twins for Colleen's prejudiced choices. She'd always been taught that the bonds of family weren't formed by biology or blood, so her time in the hospital was a hard adjustment, another reminder the outside world didn't function by the same rules as the Sons of Anarchy.

Made her wary about heading off to college. Walking around campus felt strange, like she entered another world. The interaction with other students, friendly and lively and excited, watching how they went uninhibited about their day. No leather or motorcycles. Everyone was young. Nobody worried about runs, nobody considered carrying a gun in their purse- and if they did, the weapon was registered. Date rape was the number one concern of a female coed, not the blowback of a rival gang's wrath. Surely nobody she'd walked past today had ever killed a man, or even gave the idea any consideration.

Mattie wasn't sure how well she would be able to adjust. She was used to being the outcast at school but high school was different. You got to go home at the end of the day. At Berkeley she'd be truly alone- a sensation she'd never really experienced before.

She didn't hear the click of heels over her thoughts, but something- an unconscious reaction- made her look up at Gemma, who stood with her arms over her chest, eyes watering. No. _No_. Mattie scrambled for a mental footing, someplace where she could stand without falling backwards with the weight of loosening emotions.

Gemma spoke first.

"Tig's asking for you." Gem smiled, her grin uncharacteristically wide, "Wants to know where the fuck his girl is."

Mattie cried anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A couple people were asking for a distinction between the flashbacks and present chapters, so I decided to loosely date the flashbacks. Current chapters are just going to flow like usual. Next four/five posts are all going to be set during the regular timeline, because they all flow right into one another. There might even be some sexytimes in one of them ;). PS- I totally might've used this song to start another chapter. I was too lazy to check. Anyway, thanks as always for reading and reviewing, and please continue to review so I know what you think!**


	47. Chapter 47

_I'll admit I'm full of shit, _

_That's how I know I love you,_

_That's how I know I trust you,_

_You're not sure if there's a right or wrong, _

_But it feels like there is when I treat you like this,_

_I go outside,_

_I go outside_

_My Heart is an Apple – Arcade Fire_

* * *

><p>Tig had done some time in his forty-six years, none of it for very long stretches. The longest he'd ever been inside was ten months, just after he and Colleen split up. It'd been lonely and introspective, just him mixed in with the rest of general population, watching his own back. Somehow, he'd thought being in Stockton with most of his brothers would be some sort of bonding experience, relaxing while the flimsy charges filed against them just fell away. Maybe he'd watched <em>Goodfellas<em> with Mattie too many times.

Tig knew there were cracks in SAMCRO. Relationships were always strained, alliances with other gangs forever shifting and adapting. Clay and Jax were no longer father and son, but contentious enemies. Opie fluctuated between being too deep in the club and too far away, and was never in the right place at the right time. Brothers who used to trust implicitly were now regarding each other with barely veiled skepticism. It was a hard thing to swallow, the club crumbling from the inside, and even harder to accept that Tig had struck the first crippling blow.

He killed Donna. That's what began all of this shit, the in-fighting and the lying, the bad decisions that landed them all in Stockton. He killed Donna and Jax immediately lost all respect for Clay, started to question everything the President did. Christ, Tig couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand and watch while everything he loved and fought for just fell apart because he'd made an irreparable mistake.

The guilt was eating away at him. That shit fucking hurt because it wasn't just his life he'd ruined, but those of his brothers, who'd no damn idea Tig was the one who murdered an innocent Old Lady. Not the Niners or the Mayans or whoever the goddamn flavor was the week was, but one of their own. Acting on his President's orders or not, Tig did something truly reprehensible with consequences which rippled violently back onto his club.

And he really fucking _hated_ himself for it.

A long time ago, he thought he was just a gun in Clay's hand, a trigger to be pressed towards whatever enemy needed to be taken out. Tig was not a man but a means to an end, a weapon with no conscience or anxieties. Now he was just a powerless asshole with regrets and sorrows.

God, in Stockton, he'd wanted to go home so badly. But he had to put his head down and fight for protection, even if he dreamt of his cut and his clubhouse and his girl. His Mattie, back in Charming, half-broken just like the Sons. Threatened and alone, helping Gemma take care of the day-to-day business at TM. Tig knew Mattie would hold together, but shit, he _missed_ her. It wasn't a feeling he indulged very often and when he did… Fuck.

Tig didn't like leaving her the way he did. No warning, just an abrupt absence with a secondhand explanation. Took the coward's way out and delivered his messages through Clay because Tig didn't know what would happen if he heard her voice. He was all hollow and achy and wasn't allowed to see the one person he'd come to depend on, the girl who'd come back to him even though he'd never deserved it.

She wouldn't understand why Tig didn't want to put her house up for bond. Yeah, it didn't make very much sense considering he wanted to go home sooner rather than later, but he wasn't going to give Mattie another excuse to leave Charming. If things got fucked up and she lost her home… Tig couldn't do that to her. He also couldn't lose her again and he didn't care if he had to piss her off in order to hold on to her. So he made sure Clay told Gemma just how serious he was, knowing Mattie would listen to the matriarch's orders.

But that crafty bitch, going around Tig's wishes and offering up her car instead… Still made him laugh. Pissed him off too, but he realized it wasn't Mattie's intention. No, his girl must've wanted him home as badly as he wanted to be home and figured circumventing his wishes was the quickest way to make that happen.

Being inside made Tig think about what would happen to Mattie if the club went away for a long time, which, considering the stink Zobelle and Weston were making, could be a definite possibility. Wasn't the monetary problems that worried him- she already paid her own bills, and if need be, could get a job outside TM- but the lack of legitimate protection. The ranks of the mother charter would be bare, just Chibs, Opie, Piney and Half-Sack. Mattie would always be looked after, but if something sudden went down, like with Hirsch or Weston's letter… Tig didn't know. The club needed to have an immediate response to any outside threats and that just wasn't possible with members stretched so thin.

No matter how independent Mattie believed she was, how often she insisted she could support herself, Tig just wanted to be _absolutely_ sure she'd be taken care of in case something got fucked up. If the Sons served hard time or he caught a stray bullet one day, whatever situation led to Tig not physically being able to watch her himself, Mattie had to be okay without him. He'd seen too many women be destroyed by the club's mistakes.

Tig fucking loved Mattie. Couldn't really deny it anymore, and it was for that reason he approached Happy in the exercise yard one day. The Tacoma Killer was halfway through his relentless bench press routine, undeterred by all the white hate staring daggers or the heavyweight black man keeping lookout behind him. Barely spared Tig a glance, just the monotonous up and down of the metal bar, Happy making the whole thing look easy.

"Been thinking." Tig started, pretending to spot his brother. It'd been a long time since he seriously worked out, but maybe it was time to get back into it. His metabolism wouldn't hold out forever.

"Congratulations."

"Fuck you." Tig still cracked a smile, "Got a second?"

"Always. Just don't expect me to stop for your ass."

"You gonna stay in Charming for a while?" The question made Happy pause, his biceps flexed hard as the bar remained perfectly balanced above his chest.

"Why you askin', Tig?"

"Need some advice."

The Nomad snorted. "That don't answer my question."

Tig rubbed a hand across his chin, not sure how to proceed. "I'm thinking about getting a piece done."

"Yeah?" Happy raised an eyebrow. Aside from the _Til_ across his chest, Tig normally thought long and hard about his tattoos. His spontaneity did not extend to his skin. "How big?"

"Not sure." He sighed. Fuck the pretense. "Shit, brother, it ain't for me."

Happy finally set the bar down, sitting up to better angle his incredulous gaze at Tig. "Just get down to the nitty gritty, asshole. Ain't gonna judge you or nothin'."

Oh, if that fucker wasn't smiling. Happy knew exactly what Tig wanted and was just looking to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Probably went through this little back-and-forth every time a brother came to him for tattoo advice. Guess even the Tacoma Killer needed to amuse himself.

"I'm thinking… I'm thinking about giving Matt my crow."

"Ain't that very fucking official." Happy stood, gesturing for Tig to follow. "Thought you weren't gonna take another old lady."

He wasn't. But why not give Mattie the fucking crow? She was his old lady, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Might place a bit of distance between her and Chibs too- and don't you know how Tig felt about the two of them being home all unsupervised- and it definitely guaranteed her some SAMCRO help if anything should happen to Tig.

Yeah, Tig was fucking nervous as shit about the whole thing because in his opinion making things 'official' rarely made them better. He married Colleen and got bitched at for four years solid. Bobby and Precious got together and then once they split the bitch had a jolly 'ol time making the Secretary's life hell. Book and Reese, Bobby and his first wife, Bobby and his near third wife, Piney and Mary- Tig could keep going, but he'd made his point. But it sometimes worked out- Clay and Gemma, Otto and Luann, and even though Tig'd fucked it all up, Opie and Donna. Tigger just had to trust whatever he and Mattie had would not be made even more complicated with a tattoo.

"I didn't think so either." He admitted.

Hap took the information in stride. "You and her been together just about for-fucking-ever. Had that cherry popped outta the womb, right?"

"Fuck you." Tig repeated his earlier statement. If it wasn't for the Killer's uncharacteristically broad grin, he might've threatened to throw a punch or two. "I know she's gone to you about tats before. You don't have to ink her, that's not what I'm asking, just need some guidance."

"I did draw up her first tat." He said contemplatively, "And consulted on some of the others. What were you thinkin' as far as placement?"

Tig drew his left arm up, gesturing to the length of skin between the inside of his wrist and the crook of his elbow. He didn't want it on her tit like Gemma or above her ass like Tara, someplace visible but not obvious.

"Inside of her forearm." Couldn't put it on her back, there was too much shit there already. He'd considered fitting the tattoo in on her right hip, but he didn't want his crow cluttered inside all the rest of her art.

"Okay. I can see that. Got a preference for style? Black and grey, color? Anything special?" The wheels in Happy's head were turning faster than Tig's. Hell, he'd just come to the conclusion that he wanted Mattie to be his old lady, not the specifics of the whole fucking thing. Hap seemed to realize after he fired off all his questions. "Start easy. Size?"

Tig and Happy leaned against the thick fencing of the yard, their brothers not too far away but removed from the conversation. Didn't need anybody else butting in and asking questions- Hap only asked the obvious and it was still too much for Tig- wondering why the hell he changed his mind. The decision was a mix of logistics and obligation, but pinned upon one simple fact: Tig loved Mattie. He loved her and she deserved the security that a crow gave, deserved the title that had honestly been hers long before he'd internally declared it.

Christ, why'd it take him so long?

Hap sketched in the air, index finger poised and undulating as Tig narrowed down what exactly he wanted inked on Mattie. The Killer was surprisingly helpful with his opinions, pulling from the tattoos she already had to determine style. A mixture of austere realism and a pop of color. Maybe the lyrics of a song or a quote to underline the whole composition, but Tig still had to figure it out. Words were always more Mattie's thing, could be her contribution to the tat he'd painstakingly planned.

But that was in Stockton. Now Tig was in Charming and the club was fucking broken and those frivolous ideas didn't seem to matter much anymore. Mattie stood across the parking lot with Gemma and Tara, the three of them watching as SAMCRO splintered. Whatever camaraderie existed before Jax and Clay's fight was gone, and the Sons of Anarchy was a collection of depressed men desperately looking to be whole again.

Tig planned to stay at the club, wallow in his own misery like everyone else, but he'd glanced at the burner he'd left plugged inside his dorm room and saw the text waiting for him.

_I don't know if you're still using this phone and I don't know what you're going to do tonight, but I can see that things are bad. You probably want to be with your brothers, and I understand. But if you need me, I'll be at home. _

Tig did. If circumstances were different he would've celebrated his return with the rest of the Sons, but this homecoming was no celebration. No drinks clunked together or loud merriment, just singular moroseness, every man an island. A few croweaters milled around, offering themselves up for whoever wanted to fuck away their sorrows, and Tig almost accepted. Almost.

Those women wouldn't make him feel better, not really. He'd be satisfied for a few moments and then his torments would churn again, before the stupid bitch was even dressed. His guilt couldn't be patched. Needed be disinfected with empathy and sewn shut with devotion, two qualities he'd only find in one person: Mattie. She'd listen and she'd nod and she say something soothing and Tig might find himself intact in the morning. Staying at club would only leave him as shattered as his charter.

That's why he swallowed two whiskeys back-to-back and marched out to his bike; the ride to Mattie's a combination of nervous tension and rolling pavement. Hadn't seen or spoken to his girl in three weeks. Didn't know what the hell she'd been up to, if she'd been truly safe all alone. Well, Tig knew she was safe- he'd have heard from someone if she wasn't- just not if she _felt_ safe. Mattie wasn't likely to admit it, but she got edgy without the reassurance of the club. Not that this half-wrecked excuse was anything like the MC that went away three weeks ago.

The front door was locked up tight, and it took Tig a couple tries to figure out which of his keys went where before the door creaked open, the soft warmth of the house spilling out into the cool night air. Things inside were almost exactly like they'd been when he left. An unruly assemblage of shoes inside the foyer, to which Tig added his boots. The scent of fresh laundry drifting from the machine in the basement, the dryer kicking rhythmically through the floorboards. Little late to be doing chores, but that was Mattie's style.

He laid his cut across the armchair in the living room, not missing the mess of papers strewn across the desk in the corner. Paid it a passing glance, most of it looking like pages of legalese and copied evidence sheets, probably borrowed from Lowen or Rosen. Mattie hadn't used her law degree very much since arriving in Charming, but when she could, she put it to good use.

Tig turned at the sound of quiet footfalls, the hollow space inside his chest feeling firmer with a single gaze towards Mattie. His girl, with a soft smile on her lips, wearing one of his old flannel shirts without anything underneath. His girl, curls scattered across her shoulders, cheeks glowing a tender pink. His girl, all pale and perfect and beautiful, only a few fucking feet away, closer than she'd been in twenty-one whole days.

"Tigger." Her voice was small and adoring, the single word punctuated with a content sigh.

"Matilda." Only her whole name felt right.

She stepped forward, hips swiveling in a way that made his mouth dry, a few undone buttons giving him a flawless view of a fuchsia lace bra. Three weeks was a long time to go without.

"I missed you, babe." Mattie whispered, placing both hands against his chest. She was sharp, searing heat through his shirt's thin cotton.

God, Tig wanted her.

"Missed you." He pressed his lips against her forehead, inhaling the tropical scent of her hair. Lingered there, resting against youthful, supple skin. "Glad to be home."

Mattie linked their fingers. "Thought you might stay at the club."

"Wanted to be with you." It was a truth he rarely invoked. Normally such a declaration would be stated inside his head, then reworked into a denial and spoken as a lie. Missed her mattress. Too much noise at the clubhouse. Anything Tig could use to show Mattie even though he loved her, he needed to keep her at arm's length. Not anymore. He couldn't. The whole process was exhausting, and with everything that was going on… He couldn't.

"Come upstairs?"

Tig didn't answer, just tipped her chin upwards, speech swapped for a hard, forceful kiss. Splitting the seam of her lips with his tongue, her willing mouth tugging into a grin before yielding completely. Mattie's hands threaded through his tangled hair, catching knots and pulling his scalp, increasing the taut violence of their exchange. Tig couldn't remember the last time he had such trouble with the unfastening of buttons, settling for the torn sound of ripped flannel as he vehemently opened the front of Mattie's shirt. He didn't care if it was really his, didn't care if front curtains were open and anybody could come by and watch.

Tig needed Mattie, and he needed her now. His club, the club in which he'd invested his whole heart and his whole soul for last twenty-five fucking years, was in a decline he couldn't stop. There were no problems he could solve; no way to bolster his club with a kill or a good beat down. They'd tried that and ended up in prison with a whole list of pending charges. Zobelle couldn't be taken out the tried and true Tigger way, not with brute force or intimidation, the asshole was all politics and finesse and Tig just didn't work that way. Clay bred him to be muscle, powerful and fearsome and psychotic. Rabid and bloodthirsty, willing to murder to keep his own safe. But what use was a guard dog against subtle threats? Weapon charges? What use was a guard dog with remorse for the things he'd done?

His self worth was based on his brawn, on his authority within the Sons, but the way the club was crumbling under the weight of its own shit… What was he? Who the fuck was Tig Trager without the Sons of Anarchy to bolster him? He still had faith in his club and his brothers, would forever be loyal to them, would always keep fighting, but he'd seen his fall from grace. Tig was not power, not strength, just a mixture of false confidence and overzealous ego, a prick who believed there were no consequences for his actions. Once, he was untouchable. Now… Christ, he was just a man. Just a confused man with a hard heart and sharp fears of losing the few things that really mattered.

This was why Tig _needed_ Mattie. He needed to lose himself in her curves and her moans and pull away from his self-condemning thoughts. He needed her in the places that'd gone hollow inside his chest, to fill the emptiness left by all the things he thought he was. Tig had always believed that he was strength and Mattie was gentleness, which was why they found such balance in one another, but maybe that wasn't quite true. She wasn't weak, wasn't afraid of his wrath, could hold her own against him. Tig was never able to force her to do something she didn't want to do, couldn't trick her into admitting her vulnerabilities- which, if he didn't know better, would make him believe they didn't really exist.

Gemma was right: Mattie was stronger than anybody gave her credit for. Perhaps that's how his girl wanted it.

Tig didn't know how or when he'd broach the subject of his crow with Mattie, whether it'd be tomorrow or the next day, if his plans would go unannounced for months. But it would happen. The tattoo floating inside his mind would land on her left forearm, pinioned between the SAMCRO on her wrist and the crook of her elbow.

Mattie pulled away from him, the separation granting her enough time to let her shredded shirt fall away to the hardwood floor, her hands leaving his hair to tackle the inflexible metal and leather that was the buckle of his belt. Once it hung open she moved to his jeans, separating button from denim with a practiced contortion of thumb and forefinger.

She was on her knees before Tig could really process the action, tugging both his pants and his boxers to his ankles with a single, swift motion, his erection awaiting the warm smoothness of her palm. Tig allowed an unruly grunt to fill the room as she stroked up and down his length. Mattie's grip tightened and his hips bucked, the difference between using his own hands to get off and hers was night and day, and Tig knew that after all time in Stockton he'd come almost embarrassingly quickly.

Especially when Mattie's lips brushed teasingly against his cock, her tongue swirling around the head, running a wet trail down the shaft. He ground out an anticipatory hiss when she pulled him into her mouth, his skin meeting that scorching, suctioning heat. _Shit_. This was nothing like a blowjob at the club, a croweater locked between his legs, giving frantic head before Tig tossed her back out into the clubhouse. This was Mattie, looking up at him with adoring eyes, that hazel burning into Tig's baby blue, forging an intimate connection as she pushed him deeper into the back of her throat. No guards up, all outward propriety forgotten, just her mouth and his cock and how fucking good it felt. Blazing wet velvet tautly traveling his length with expertise that belied whatever innocence he normally associated with Mattie, both of them risking exposure right in front of the big bay windows. If anybody in suburban Charming wanted a show, all they had to do was look.

Tig had both hands balled up in her curls, more for stability than control, leaning slightly backwards with his eyes closed while his girl got him off. Electricity balled up at the base of his spine, growing with every harmonized progression of her tongue and her lips and her fingers, his sharp inhalations descending into cavernous moans, her speed increasing with agonizing precision.

One blowjob and Tig's mind had gone from explosive worry to controlled chaos, unruly anxieties shuffling back into their lair. The club's troubles still existed, but not now, not with this wonderful distraction, not when his orgasm was sitting just on the edge of his consciousness, gaining force with her deliberate ministrations.

God, he was close. Everything in the air was a sexualized snarl, a guttural beg, Mattie's name a nearly unrecognizable mantra. _Yes_. _Fuck_. _Baby._ _Fu-uck_. Tig talked dirty with the best of them, but his synapses weren't firing right after nearly a month of nothing by the companionship of his brothers. A month of alternating between being horny and miserable, and Tig's hips were bucking violently forward. _Shit_. He came hard and quavering inside her mouth, head lolling immediately backwards after a rasping groan.

Mattie pulled her lips from his cock with a little pop, Tig a busy rush of endorphins and silence. He didn't tell her what he needed, didn't say anything beyond a basic greeting, but she read his cues and just _knew_. Always. Mattie was a strange constant in his life, a committed pillar of pale skin and chestnut curls who Tig came to depend on in his darkest moments. Wasn't easy to deal with his shit, especially when he refused to speak about it, but she found a way. Tig already felt looser, content, not so concave.

His girl sashayed back to her feet, daintily wiping his cum from the corner of her mouth, head tilted in question. _Better_? The slight angle seemed to suggest, and the answer was obvious- _fuck yes_.

Tig focused on Mattie, who must've instinctively known he'd come home. Her underwear were pretty scalloped lace, bright fuchsia radiating off fair skin. Her body wordlessly inviting him to reach behind her back to unfasten a seductively low cut bra, tiny panties a reminder of how easily he could get her naked. Desire pooled in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly, he wasn't so spent anymore.

"Off. With all of it." Tig's hands settled on the familiar span of her shoulders. "I want you naked, right now."

Mattie stepped out of his grasp, her expression a cocky mixture of lust and amusement, chest pushed forward as she reached behind her back. "Then I want you to fuck me as soon as the lace hits the floor."

"Deal."

The bra was unhooked but remained in place, Tig a few unrestrained seconds away from unceremoniously tossing the pretty fabric to the wayside. "Oh, Tigger, you shouldn't agree so quickly. You never know what I might ask."

He stalked forward, no longer able to wait. What didn't she understand about spending three weeks in prison? "Tell me what you want."

Mattie settled her hands on her hips, fingertips playing with the hem of her panties. Little tease. "I want you to make me _scream_, Tigger. I want you to make me scream right here in the living room. Think you can do that, baby?"

"I can fucking guarantee it."

Mattie raised an eyebrow in challenge, slipping the straps of her bra down her shoulders, dropping it without breaking eye contact, Tigger barely catching the beginning of a grin before looking downwards to her bare tits. Spectacular as he remembered, carnation pink nipples already hard. Christ. Tig would remember this scene for his next inevitable trip inside, when he was lonely in his bunk. Mattie's body, lithe and beautiful, the dip in her waist made for his palms, her breasts crafted for his mouth, his teeth. And that pussy… it was solely his. Because this was the woman who would wear his crow, and that made her his for as long as he lived.

Mattie, his old lady. Tig liked that. Tig liked that a lot.

She finally stepped out of her panties, kicking them off towards the pile that included his boxers and jeans, now completely nude. Standing voyeuristic in front of the windows, waiting for Tig to stop staring and start fucking her.

He bent her over the arm of the couch, Mattie supporting herself on the brown leather, his hands anchored on her hips. Ass propped up in the air, she twisted back to flash him a sexy grin. She was ready, the twinkle of her hazel eyes declared, and Tig positioned himself at her entrance.

Mattie was sweltering slickness as he sunk his cock inside her, belting out an intense moan as her walls adjusted to his size. _Yes_. Tig had somehow forgotten just how tight her pretty little cunt was, but goddamn was she wet. Dirty girl, getting turned on giving him a blowjob. What a naughty old lady.

Her back arched acrobatically when he began to thrust, every plunge eliciting a delicious mew from the back of Mattie's throat and Tig needed to take advantage of her yearning. Traced a lazy line from her right hip to her breast, eagerly taking rounded flesh in his hand. Another contortion, another impossible flex when Tig stroked her nipple between his callused fingertips. She twisted to give him better leverage, peeking back at him at the same time. Blushing cheeks and swollen lips, long eyelashes and delirious eyes. Sweat on her forehead catching a few loose curls, the bulk tumbling to one side of her slender neck.

Tig quickened his pace, enough to distort Mattie's cry of, "oh god, yes," but still maneuvering tauntingly slowly. Riding her with meticulous control, forcing her to depend on him for pleasure. Sometimes, when they were in bed- when he wasn't taking her from behind in the living room- she'd snake a hand down to her clit while grinning up at him with a coy what-are-you-doing-to-do-about-it smile. A dare to get her off before he came. She knew he was never one to back down from a challenge and her tactic worked every goddamn time.

Smart little bitch, Tig thought pleasantly, stroking a hand down her spine, touching words and images. All easily hidden underneath a shirt, private odes on flesh of which she granted him glimpses. He'd never lingered long enough to memorize anything beside the tiger and cardinal, the letters between her shoulder blades, certainly not the litany of quotes below. Usually her back was pressed into a mattress and not presented in a luscious curve of spine and skin.

"Tigger." Mattie whined breathlessly, warning him that she was close. Tig paused mid thrust, and got the scream he was waiting for. "Oh god, Tigger, _please_!"

Hey, it _was_ what she asked for in the first place.

Mattie only needed a few more deep strokes before she released a ragged moan that sounded suspiciously like his name, one final coil as a trembling orgasm shook her body. Christ, she was so still and so fucking gorgeous; head tilted the side with a blissful smile. Mattie knew he wasn't finished, and shamelessly bucked herself backwards, spurring him on.

God, he loved her. All he could think about while enjoying her still-clenched tight pussy, aftershocks of her climax periodically squeezing his dick. Tig loved Mattie and there wasn't anything he could do about it, no more tricks to prove himself wrong. At this point he couldn't deal with her being anybody else's, and was well aware he'd have to keep her close to prevent that from happening.

When he came for the second time, it was just as powerful as the first but much quieter, a series of possessive grunts just before Tig spilled himself inside her. Fuck. He was just electricity and heat and satisfied needs, no more fried nerves. Soothed. Content. Exactly the way Tig thought he'd feel after having sex with his woman. The club was still in trouble, divided by suspicion and lies, attacked by overzealous outsiders, but this, this right here, the deep breathing and the friction of two tired, sweaty bodies, this would always be right.

Later, as Tig walked into the bedroom after a shower, he still ran scenarios in his head, situations in which he could sit Mattie down and tell her his decision. For her own good, for his peace of mind, she needed to be his old lady. It was the most appropriate course of action with all the danger inside Charming, with all the fissures splitting the club. Mattie would be guaranteed safety and care if something happened to Tig. The decision made sense.

Love had a hand in the verdict. He'd admit it- for now, only to himself. Tig loved Mattie and yes, part of him wanted a crow on her arm for reasons that weren't tactical. Because of affection and history and possessiveness, because he could rely on her like no other woman he'd ever been with. Matt understood the pressures of the club, gave him space but offered intimacy. Knew his moods fluctuated with the Sons' stability. How or why or when she'd figured it all out was completely beyond him, but Tig depended on her.

Which was why he wanted Mattie to prove she wouldn't run away again. Only when he truly believed she'd stay in Charming and deal with the bullshit, deal with _his_ bullshit, would he broach the subject of the crow. He'd keep mulling over the plans for the tattoo he planned to put on her arm, refining the idea until it suited the both of them, but he couldn't ink anything until he was absolutely sure. Wouldn't.

So he slipped into bed next to Mattie, his girl stirring as he pried some blankets away from her tangle of limbs. An open book laid on the mattress between them, her hand wedged between the pages, and Tig couldn't help shaking his head. He found her like this every night he spent at home, sprawled all disjointed while her chest rose and fell in slow, tranquil succession. Borrowed t-shirt rumpled and riding high.

But blunt, black letting crossing the curve of Mattie's left thigh caught his attention, close to her hips but beneath the line of simple black underwear. He hadn't noticed it before, during the heat of the moment, but the formerly bare skin had recently gained a tattooed adornment.

_I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost, for wanting things that can only be found in the darkness on the edge of town_.

Was this the promise Tig looked for?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I promised sexytimes, didn't I? Sorry for the long wait, ya'll know how busy life gets around the holidays. So, things will continue down this timeline for a little while. Might've fudged the length of time they were away before Oswald's money bailed them out- does the show ever say? In my head, I rationalized that if they wanted protection, had to be longer than just a few days. Dunno. Anyhow, thanks so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: What? Author's note at the beginning of a chapter? Well, yes. A warning: the middle POV will be confusing. Don't worry, by the end of it you'll catch on. I promise. Or, at least, I hope.**

* * *

><p><em>Finally baby<em>

_The truth has been told_

_Now you tell me that I'm crazy_

_It's nothing that I didn't know_

_Trying to survive_

_Oh you say you love me, but you don't know_

_You got me rocking and a-reeling_

_Hey, I want you oh oh yeah uh huh_

_I don't want to know the reasons why_

_Love keeps right on walking on down the line_

_I don't want to stand between you and love_

_Honey, take a little time._

_Oh I don't want to know_

_I Don't Want to Know – Fleetwood Mac_

Mattie didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't even remember closing her eyes, but there she was, curled up in a chair at the foot of Chibs' hospital bed, blinking herself awake under the watchful gaze of a suspicious stranger standing in the doorway. Fighting off the urge to hiss in pain, Matt untangled her limbs- which ached of sex and running and general fatigue- to properly arm her body language in case the woman stepping inside the room wasn't just a lost visitor wandering into the wrong suite. Maybe she was some asshole investigator camping out until Chibs woke, and if that were the case, Mattie would stay, claiming to be the Scot's lawyer. Didn't matter if she hadn't practiced for _months_ or bothered to take California's bar exam. A little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone.

For now, at least.

"Excuse me, the visitor's log at the desk says that you're Filip's fiancé." The woman remarked, her voice a deep Irish brogue, tone cutting.

_Filip_. Still sounded strange, even though Matt had spent the last three weeks fielding questions from doctors who weren't Tara. St. Thomas only allowed immediate family members to visit the ICU and also required them to sign in at the front desk. A protocol not even Tara could forgo, and the long spreadsheet was filled with scribbled entries of **Robert Munson – Brother **and **Jackson Teller – Brother **or **Gemma Teller-Morrow – Sister**. When Mattie first came to visit Chibs, a bitchy nurse commented upon the number of siblings he had and the variety of last names attached to them, adding Mattie looked neither old enough to be another sister nor young enough to be a daughter. A cousin perhaps, though unfortunately, due to hospital regulations, cousins were not considered _immediate_ family, she'd trilled too happily.

Backed into a corner, Mattie altered her name- **M. Scout**, a combination which could never really be tracked back to her if security decided to crack down- and carefully printed **Fiancé** in the column labeled _Relationship to Patient, _and afterwards, gave the nurse a falsely wide grin, waltzing back to room 814.

It'd been a distorted truth which still stuck, but Mattie didn't think anybody besides that nosy bitch ever regarded it as important. Hell, Tara even encouraged the lie when Mattie casually pointed it out to her, the young doctor murmuring that anything which made the administrative portions of her job easier were more than fine with her. But this woman, with her high cheekbones and halo of beautifully frizzed curls- Mattie felt the need to distinguish between her own hideous scruff of exercise messed hair and the wild, pretty effect of the stranger's kinky mane- and dark mocha skin, she'd reviewed and questioned Chibs' visitors for reasons Mattie didn't know. And that made her irritatingly uneasy.

Plus it totally ruined the other lie she'd already prepared- couldn't be both Chibs' fiancé _and_ his lawyer, conflict of interest and all sorts of stupid bullshit which blew her plan to goddamn pieces. Fuck. She worked better one step ahead.

"Something like that." Mattie finally answered, sure to remain nonchalant. She didn't have the patience for either a St. Thomas administrator- though, if the clock on the wall was right, it was only seven thirty in the morning, a hair too early for anybody besides doctors and nurses- or a San Joaquin detective, but she wasn't about to let this woman in on the secret.

"That's very interesting. Very, _very_ interesting." The Irish woman pulled out one of the folding chairs from its spot against the wall, pushing it underneath the long row of curtained windows. Mattie'd already claimed the single comfortable seat, a high backed armchair upholstered in a sticky, textured plastic. An unintentional strategic advantage, Book's voice whispered in the recesses of her mind, prodding Matt to sit up straighter and to raise her chin in an angle of defiant civility.

"I'm sorry, may I ask how you know Filip?" God, more bizarre to say than to hear.

"Never thought I have to say this, but it looks like our Filip is a bit of a bigamist. I am his wife. Legally."

Mattie's stomach clenched hard but she wasn't sure why.

"Wife?"

Oh dear god that sounded intelligent. Mattie's actual relationship with the man wasn't even close to her lie and she couldn't fathom how her brain suddenly clouded in questions and betrayal and terribly confusing anger. It didn't matter if this gorgeous foreigner was actually Chibs' wife because Mattie had no claim to him, she had a man of her own who'd she'd blown and fucked just hours ago. She was in love with somebody else but her entire body screamed in an amalgam of emotions she didn't know how to process and she was fighting so, so hard not to let this stupid, intrusive bitch see any of it.

How many fucking questions had Chibs asked her since she moved back to Charming? How many hours did he spend prying and poking, trying to investigate her past? She hadn't told him much but she'd said enough, the bare bone details which hurt just as much as the sum of the parts and he _knew_ that. Book's death and the falling out with Tigger- not the baby, _Christ_, not the baby, never- and Patrick, painful moments she didn't like to recount but he'd earned her trust and so she peeled herself open. Stupidly.

God. That was what really bothered her. She could give a shit if Chibs was married- _well_, that might not be as true as she'd like to admit but she was pissed and she'd gloss over that for right now- but the fact he'd managed to get more out of her than she'd gotten from him… That smarted. Mattie prided herself on being able to dodge anything intrusive someone might ask, but on the same token, she'd always had the talent to subtly read and extract information. A trick Book taught her a long time ago magnified by something innate in her. But that asshole Chibs danced around any barriers Mattie might've constructed while skillfully maneuvering her around his. Little Scottish fucker.

"Fiona Larkin. We're estranged at the moment, but yes, there's a document back in Ireland with our names on it." Fiona smirked, almost imperceptibly. "I suppose whatever papers you'll eventually have- if you even bother- will be a little less legitimate."

Mattie, for a split second, wondered whether it'd be easier to drop the lie, admit that she was just a friend of Chibs' through the club. No. She'd play it cool, allude to a relationship without giving up her hand either way. Channeling her father's wisdom, Mattie once again altered her body language, contorting herself into a position she imagined Clay might take when he resided over goings-on in the chapel. Authoritative but understated, chest open, shoulders back.

"You're the crazy Irish cunt, then?" Mattie asked, Gemma filtering through her words. "It's… _something_ to finally meet you."

"I've been called worse." Fiona shrugged, "I see you don't wear an engagement ring."

"Nope." Too bad Mattie hadn't worn any of her old jewelry- read: jewelry Patrick gave her- on a whim. "I've got a tattoo in a place I don't believe you'd like to see, however." She purposely crossed and uncrossed her legs, Sharon Stone-style.

"I must say, you're a little young for our Filip, aren't you- I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"Matilda." She easily replied, not seeing a reason to further bend the truth.

"Chibs' child whore, _Matilda_." Fiona tested the three syllables. "You're not much older than our daughter, I'd say."

_Daughter_. Shit. Mattie wanted to shake Chibs awake and ask him why the fuck he'd never mentioned his kid, why she heard it from his supposedly estranged wife who appeared out of goddamn nowhere. She hated being taken by surprise and this was a sneak attack of the worst accord. Motherfucker.

Soon she'd have to say something poised or risk Fiona seeing straight through her.

"The daughter you keep from him." It was a reach, but Fiona's eyes narrowed and she hoped to fucking god it was close enough to the truth to keep the Irish woman off her trail.

"I don't keep Kerri from Filip. Filip's choices keep him from his daughter. If he'd only done what I'd told him-" Fiona shrugged, "But I'm sure hearing the story from me won't endear you to my side of things."

"No." Mattie stood, taking a few steps with a catlike switch in her step, "I'll let you have your time with him, but I'd appreciate it if you were gone when I come back this afternoon."

"Is that a threat, Matilda?"

The pressure of the gun perpetually tucked inside her waistband made her bold. "Only if it needs to be."

"Don't you know what people like me do to cheeky little gashes like you?" Her lyrical accent belied the violence in her question.

"The usual, I'm guessing." Mattie held up her hands, "If you'd like to take a swipe, go right ahead. I'd say we're evenly matched. Although, in my experience, _people like you_ rarely get their hands dirty when there's somebody else to do it for them."

"Aren't you a smart little thing." Fiona grinned. "I'm going to keep my eye on you."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Matt had to leave before she completely dug her own grave. Besides, if she left now, she'd get home before rush hour- a congested twenty minutes or so between eight and nine on Main Street while carpooling parents and commuters tried to get to their respective destinations- and before Tig woke for the day. Her legs complained at the idea of another run, but her brain needed the blank repetition of foot thrown ahead of foot, over and over until her mind faded to grey. She wouldn't have to think about Chibs and his wife and daughter or Tig's jealousies or how there was still a huge possibility of the Sons going back to Stockton and doing hard time. It wasn't the best way of dealing with her problems but it worked for her right now and it'd work until it didn't, and then she'd find some other coping mechanism. Too much going on to depend on her trusted compartmentalization, which tended to fail in times of great stress.

Leaning down, Mattie pressed a kiss into the corner of Chibs' mouth- a chaste peck, barely any contact between their lips- whispering a just audible enough, "I love you, babe," before striding towards the door. Not inappropriate should somebody like Gemma or Jax walk in- oh, but far more than enough to make Tigger go ballistic- and the envious twist in Fiona's mouth said Mattie's actions furthered her charade.

"It was nice meeting you." Fiona called, settling in the seat Mattie previously occupied.

That was a lie if she'd ever heard one.

"You as well, Fiona."

Mattie didn't breathe until she was out in the parking lot, strangled by the lie she'd kept up for absolutely no reason at all- pride, so much stupid fucking pride- afraid she'd be stopped by one of the doctors needing to ask Chibs' fiancé a question or Tara wanting a few minutes of chitchat. Well, the latter wasn't extremely likely to happen, even if the two women had dislodged some of the ill will separating them.

Chibs had been in St. Thomas for three fucking weeks and she still hadn't been able to say a single goddamn word to him. Made her feel guilty and oddly out of sorts; the Scot was a fixture in her life in Charming, a friend always available with a shoulder or joke. Also a sexual innuendo or an incomplete kiss, as the case may be. Christ, all she wanted to do this morning was joke around about the hole in his head, maybe get teased for her sweaty workout clothes, but no, she'd been mentally and emotionally assaulted by the sudden appearance of a wife and child she knew nothing about. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Mattie didn't need any more complications.

She whipped off her sweat soaked t-shirt the moment she stepped in the door, tossing moist white cotton towards the basement door, a reminder to add it to the washer before she left the house again. Clad in just a tiny pair of spandex running shorts and a neon purple sports bra, Mattie meandered towards the sounds of coffee brewing in the kitchen, surprised to see Tig up so early.

"Where in the fucking fuck have you been?" The ferocity of the question was not something Mattie expected, especially juxtaposed with the pair of concerned blue eyes of the questioner.

Tig crowded her, arms crossed over his bare chest, wearing the pair of boxers she'd peeled off him last night. Apparently, he'd been awake long enough to clean up the mess they'd left in the living room, which wasn't a very good sign.

"I couldn't stay asleep, so when the sun came up, I went for a run." She replied, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him good morning. When he didn't budge, she knew she was in trouble.

"You went for a run? Since when do you go for fucking runs?" Tig demanded, curling a finger in the strap of her bra when she tried to whisk past him to the coffee pot. The tension between forefinger and tight purple spandex was enough to keep her in place.

"I don't know. Since you and your brothers managed to get yourselves thrown into county, I guess."

Wrong thing to say. "So you thought the best thing to do was jog around Charming in your fucking underwear while the men responsible for your safety were behind bars."

"I have a gun with me." She pointed out futilely, watching his eyebrows narrow. "And I wore a shirt."

"But you left your phone on the nightstand."

Jesus Christ, she didn't have patience for an interrogation. "I forgot it, and besides, I didn't plan to be so long. I was heading in the direction of St. Thomas and decided to check on Chibs. Must've fallen asleep for a little while or else I'd have been back before you woke up."

His expression softened. "Heard he's doing better."

"I guess so." Mattie inhaled a quick, painful sigh. "I've never managed to catch him awake. He's either sleeping or medicated when I come by."

Or, you know, his estranged wife walked in to keep her own vigil.

* * *

><p>Chibs looks at her, babe on her outstretched hip, a strong arm wrapped around the pudgy, squirmy thing, the little boy's voice gargantuan against her soft, maternal murmurs. They're not exactly carrying on a conversation, no, both are just talking, not bothered by the other's interruptions. The boy babbles about Hot Wheels, how fast his trucks go compared to his racecars, why the blue ones always seem to outperform the yellow. He's confounded as to why this is. His mother's pretty rose petal lips say something about lunchtime and play dates as her free hand prints a name neatly across a brown paper bag in broad magic marker.<p>

_Wyatt Telford_.

He may be named after his grandfather but Wyatt is a tiny replica of his father- minus the scars, of course-with enough dashes of his mother's features to be his own little person. Deep brown eyes a touch small for his pale oval face with ears a touch too big, full lips that he'll eventually grow into. And those perpetually arched eyebrows, which when paired with a grin, make him look irresistibly devilish. That, his mother has declared more than once, is definitely something he's inherited from his father. But the messy tufts of curly hair- a right pain in the arse to brush after bath time- and hazel eyes are all his mother's. So's the boy's tendency to think before he speaks, though Chibs can read unasked questions all over that baby face.

Guess he hasn't mastered that Cardinal mask quite yet.

"Mama?" Wyatt asks, resting a cheek against Mattie's shoulder. Chibs grins at the sight, quietly observing the pair from his spot by the kitchen sink. He's supposed to be loading the dishwasher but this is much more interesting.

"Yeah, baby?"

Chibs easily predicts the wrinkle across Wyatt's nose. "I'm not a baby."

"Yeah, old timer?" Mattie amends, turning just in time to see Chibs' smile, which she instantly matches with a wink.

"_Mama_." Wyatt whines, apparently in no mood for teasing, "I gotta ask you a question. It's _'_portant, Mama."

"_Im_portant." Chibs sticks in his two cents, and his son nods. Syllables have been falling off Wyatt's words lately and though Gemma insists it's just a phase, Chibs corrects him just the same.

"Okay, Daddy, okay." Wyatt waves him off. Whatever is on his mind is much more significant than grammar. "Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"

Mattie shoots Chibs a concerned glance. For the past month, Wyatt's been nothing but excited about starting preschool. His backpack was organized a week ago, crayons and pencils laid tidily inside a bag blazoned with whatever cartoon character was most popular at the moment- Chibs couldn't keep track of them, they were all neon colored and big eyed and so fucking weird- but checked daily to be sure nothing had gone awry. He'd drawn pictures of his new school and posted them on the fridge using TM magnets Chibs had brought home from the garage, babbled about his teacher to anybody who'd listen. Whatever made Wyatt change his optimistic views of preschool must've happened rather recently.

"You're not sick, are you?" She puts a palm against his forehead and Wyatt shrugs away.

"No."

"Then why would you want to stay home on your first day, sweetie?" Mattie's tone is maternal, but careful.

"I dunno. Just do." It's almost absurd how much he sounds like his mother in one of her more furtive moods. Chibs stores this observation for later.

"What's the matter, bruiser? Afraid you'll be too smart for those other three-year-olds?" Chibs ruffles Wyatt's hair affectionately, "'Cause you've got your ma's brains in that head of yours, so I know you'll be pullin' straight A's easy as pie."

There's no grades in preschool- what for anyway, finger painting?- but Chibs thinks it might ease his son's worries. Like Matt's tendency to wring her hands through her necklace when she's especially anxious, Wyatt bites his lips until they're cracked. They're already turning bright red and it's not even noon.

"No, that's okay. I'm not worried about that." Chibs wants to chuckle at his son's easy confidence- oh, Chibs knows full well where he got that from and hopes it won't get his son in as much trouble as it did him- but knows it won't reassure him.

"What, then, honey?"

Wyatt sighs, deep and soulful. "Tig wants to teach me how to fight. In case some of the kids at school bully me."

Mattie's jaw instantly tightens. She hates hearing _that_ name out of her son's mouth, it takes something out of her every fucking time her baby says it. She's not been with the man for goddamn years but he still wants to be wound deep inside her, even if it's because of his own bullshit choices he isn't anymore. Oh, Tig wants Chibs to know it's only a series of mistakes that made Wyatt a Telford and not a Trager.

_The kid might be yours but _she's_ mine, always, forever, and that makes all the difference. _Christ, thinking about it now still makes Chibs flush with anger, remembering the blue burn of Tig's eyes, the exact tone of Tig's growl. Heartbreak wrapped in hubris, shuddering and huge and bloodthirsty, and at the time, Chibs was sure he wouldn't ever get back to his pregnant old lady. The gun in Tigger's hand was loaded, cocked at Chibs' chest, shoved into the leather of his cut. Tig was too steady, too resolute, and Chibs felt the last goddamn seconds of his life shifting out of his grasp, into his brother's.

Shoving away a shiver, Chibs wants to rub his hands against Mattie's crow, on that same hip she's got against the counter, the bird perched nearly life-sized upon an unsheathed switchblade, against the blazing blue and white background of the Scottish flag. It's big, it's brash, and when it's seen, there's no doubt which of the Sons is her old man, who put a big 'ol diamond ring on that very special finger even if they can't get legally married. Fucking Fiona, spiteful bitch, refuses to divorce him, but her uncooperativeness has never bothered Mattie. _My last marriage didn't turn out so well either, remember?_ She'd say, kissing his scars, lips light as a whisper. Always makes an electric current light his spine, before the sensation diffuses into pure, unadulterated lust.

But despite Tig's bravado, Wyatt is Chibs' son, Mattie is his old lady. Always, forever, and that makes all the difference.

"I thought I told you to ignore what Tig tells you. He's just teasing, kiddo." Mattie doesn't let her mental hiccup filter into her voice, she's cool and breezy, and he'd almost be convinced she's okay if she didn't reach her hand out towards him. Wyatt's in her arms so he can't do much more than twine their fingers together. It's enough though, her posture softens a touch and she loses that tension in her expression.

"But mama!" Wyatt is suddenly urgent. "He said the kids with daddies that are Sons are always treated bad by kids with reg'lar dads! He _said_! He said you and Jax and Opie would know best of all!"

Mattie places Wyatt on the counter, looking him in the eyes. Seeing the opportunity, Chibs settles in closer to his girl, enveloping her around the waist, partly to comfort her, partly to present a united front to their son.

"Wyatt, what have I told you about Cardinals and promises?"

"A Cardinal always keeps a promise, no matter what." Wyatt recites gravely.

"Exactly, baby. And I promise you, what Tig told you isn't true, not anymore. When the boys and me went to school, it was a long time ago, and things are very, very different now. You're not going to have to fight anybody. All those kids in your classroom are going to be your friends, okay?"

"You sure?"

"Would I lie to you?"

Wyatt glances at Chibs, dubious. This is coming from the same woman who told him he'd like eating broccoli if it was baked in macaroni and cheese- Chibs had to clean up orange and green vomit for a whole goddamn night after that little white lie. He might only be three, but Wyatt's learned quite well how his mother can easily sidestep the truth- and unfortunately, is figuring out how to do the same. By the time he's a teenager, Wy will be a right little devil, handsome and cheeky and troublesome.

Sensing his unease, Mattie changes her response. "Would I lie to you about something so 'portant?"

Using her son's original phrasing has done the trick, and Wyatt smiles, broad and crooked. "Nope! I told Tig he was wrong, but I just wanted to be sure."

"Can I tell ya a secret, son?" Chibs interjects. "Tig's always wrong. About everything."

"Okay, Daddy. Can I go watch a movie now?" Worries gone, Wyatt is back to business.

"Sure thing, kiddo."

Wyatt scurries away, eagerly darting into the living room. Chibs is half surprised the kid didn't ask if he could go down the street to play with Thomas- the Telford-Cardinal household has relocated only a block away from both the Winstons and the Teller-Knowleses- but it's looking like rain so maybe he just decided to cut his losses. Thomas and Wyatt were working on some mysterious project in Jax's backyard involving mud and dead leaves and old coffee canisters- better his than Chibs and Mattie's- and it's likely been put on hold until the storm passes.

Mattie rotates until she's belly to belly with Chibs, nestled beneath his chin and tucked into his chest in the tender way she likes. He's been holding like this from the beginning, since she first came to him after she left Tig. Nobody knows the whole story- aside from the simple fact it was Tig's fault- neither one has ever gotten too drunk nor too furious with the other to spill it, and in a way, Chibs is quite fine with that. The dirty details do not make a single fucking difference.

Back then, the embrace was supportive, absent of any outwardly romantic affection. A woman coming to a friend who happened to be a man, who happened to be in love with her, looking for a shoulder. Not an ear, not advice, because leaving Tig might've changed Matt, but it didn't make her a completely different person. Essentially the same but more outspoken, willing to declare when something is pissing her off and put an end to it. Tig will most likely be the recipient of a furious phone call sometime in the future, and the sheer thought of it makes Chibs gleeful.

"You okay, love?" He asks quietly, knowing if she isn't yet, she soon will be.

"Yeah. Just annoyed with _him_." Mattie doesn't say Tig's name much these days. Chibs can't blame her- whatever Tig did, it broke her.

"Forget about it. He's just being an arse."

"I know."

"I love you." He means it with everything he has, after waiting for so goddamn long it feels so good to declare his feelings without worrying if it'd offend anyone.

"Love you too, babe." She returns, lifting her lips to his.

The kiss is slow and forceful, one hand sunk into his hair, the other braced on his shoulder, which presses her hips deliciously into his groin. Chibs can't help the moan when she links a finger through one of his belt loops- the contact was too close to his dick to ignore. Swirling his tongue into her mouth, he can't help but compare this to their first kiss- the kiss that never happened out in that parking lot.

Christ, time changes a lot. And for once, for the better.

Mattie pulls away to smirk contently upwards at him. She looks nearly the same as when they first met, age hasn't touched her much. No grey in her hair- his has gained more and more streaks and he's afraid it's only a year or two more before he's completely silver- the tiniest beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of her bright eyes. She hasn't lost her figure either; despite having Wyatt her curves are all still intact.

Chibs is a lucky man.

It's what he thinks as the world shifts, their kitchen growing fuzzy, the back of his head thundering with cracks of pain. He's not sure what's happening for a moment when remembers this is the same dream he's had for weeks, that he's in St. Thomas after being fucking exploded by a motherfucking racist asshole in a suit and tie. But he struggles to hold onto the illusion nonetheless, pulling Mattie tight, wishing for her to stay with him.

When he reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking, moaning, knowing he'd lost the fantasy for good. But there was a halo of curly hair in the corner of his vision, and hope bounced through his disappointment. Until he focused on the woman, really focused, and he saw that everything was all wrong.

It wasn't Mattie.

It was fucking Fiona.

* * *

><p>Tig knew instantly, the motherfucking second Mattie flounced in the front door, something was wrong with her. He thought he'd noticed an odd fluctuation in her mood last night, but he'd been too wrapped up in his own selfish needs to really investigate. There hadn't been much talking, no, not at all, lots of fucking, which meant the only words they really exchanged were moaning versions of each other's names.<p>

Shit though, Matt walking in all nonchalant like Zobelle wasn't after any piece of SAMCRO he could get his slimy hands on just fucking pissed Tig off. So goddamn what if she carried one of his spare guns? Was that really supposed to reassure him?

"Stop looking at me like that." Mattie said, swiping at her forehead with the back of her hand. "Makes me nervous."

Tig bit his cheek. God, he wanted to _scream_ at her. "I'm just trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you."

Too breezily, she replied, "I'm not sure what you mean."

Tig was sure this girl- she might be a woman in years and personality but he always thought of her as a girl, probably because she was so much younger than him- was not the one he'd unintentionally left behind a few weeks ago. An outsider might say the girl quickly draining a bottle of water was confident, easy-going, but Tig had known her too long to make that erroneous assumption. When she was off kilter, Matt had a tendency to overcompensate.

"Matilda."

She stiffened at the use of her whole name. "Don't."

"No. I thought something happened to you. I thought you got hurt while I was fucking sleeping and you know," Tig swallowed hard, "You know what that would do to me."

"Tigger, I'm sorry. I should've told you I had a new morning routine."

"Don't play this goddamn game with me, Matt." He reached out to grab her again- to trap her, even though she would hate it- but she sidestepped his grasp, twisting towards the living room. Damn it.

With her back turned, Mattie lit with the harsh sunlight piercing through the house's sheer curtains, he found some of the changes he'd missed in the afterglow of sex and homecoming. The slopes of her ribs hung sharply underneath the bright purple radiance of that sports bra. Black spandex shorts proved what his hands had sensed last night- her hips were blunter, no longer the soft bows he remembered. But Christ, worst of fucking all, were the notched divots of Matt's spine in jagged, eerie definition.

It didn't make sense.

Shit, what the fuck happened to his girl? Who did this? Did he and not realize it? Did something happen while he was inside? Did somebody hurt her? Did he have to find a motherfucker and murder him?

Tigger whirled towards Mattie, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to fucking say. But a more rational part of his mind decided whatever the hell _this_ was, it wasn't recent. It didn't happen yesterday or the day before, and it burned to think it'd been going on for a long, long time right outside his realm of vision. That's what happened the last time. That's what happened when he was so deep inside his own devastation he couldn't see how badly he'd broken her.

He took a deep breath, ready to confront her- tenderly, quietly, as sensitively as he could possibly manage- but she stopped him in his tracks a second goddamn time.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Tig demanded, his whole plan to go nice and easy shot to absolute shit.

"What are you talking about?" Mattie asked. She didn't flinch when he came close, just glanced upwards with a glint in her eye that he couldn't really process in his current mindset.

"This!"

He linked a finger into the chain around her neck, ignoring her father's reaper ring. No, it was another piece of jewelry that caught his attention, another ring, smaller, also gold, its square face adorned with a lavish A, the old English font a little worn but still readable. When Tig wore it, he kept the decoration palm-side, only the band outwardly visible, because the meaning was too personal to discuss with any curious observers. It'd been almost seven years and he still couldn't say his name aloud. Alex never left his lips, not ever, not for anybody.

Seeing it hanging between Mattie's tits… He knew it wasn't betrayal, he knew she hadn't stolen it- and when would she have had the chance since he'd lost it long before she returned to Charming- but he couldn't help but blame her for the ring's loss. And maybe that was transference, maybe he was grieving not the loss of the ring but of his son- again and always and forever- but he couldn't sort through his feelings fast enough to find one that suited him.

"Where, Matt?" Good. He didn't know how he managed it, but the question came out in a wheezing exhale of breath instead of a shout.

Mattie closed her eyes and Tig realized- too late- the glint he'd spotted earlier wasn't defiance or self-assurance, it was the mist of unshed tears. He was such a fucking idiot. All this bullshit about being in love with her and he couldn't even see- no, not see, feel, he used to be able to feel these moods of hers- how miserable his girl really was.

"Patrick. He found it in the apartment after…" She trailed for a second, "And he kept it. Decided to return the ring when he came out here for his little visit."

Tig had the sudden urge to book a flight to New York City and rip that fake psychiatrist bitch into a thousand bloody pieces. Mattie hadn't allowed him to watch over her exchange with her ex-husband, but Tig knew whatever happened wasn't pretty. She wouldn't have pulled the gun he'd lent her if things were civil. But she was fine afterwards, even willing to discuss the conversation- the details were loose but the gist was the same: she had enough to derail Patrick professionally, financially and personally, and now the idiot was completely convinced.

Christ, had Tig missed something bigger?

"I'm sorry. I should've given it back to you, but I didn't even know you still had it. I thought you threw it away, I thought you got rid of it, but I didn't even consider the idea that you could've kept it for so fucking long." Mattie placed a hand over her mouth as she finished, physical punctuation.

"Of course I kept it."

Tig pulled her into the bulk of his body, not caring if she fought him. She didn't though; she was pliable, soft aside from those newly sharpened bones. Words would never make her feel better, Mattie just wasn't that kind of woman, but her cheek against his bare chest might turn the tides.

He didn't expect her to wrap her arms around him- usually; he was the one doing the holding. "I'm okay. I just… I dunno, Tigger. I guess I got overwhelmed." Mattie lifted her chin to look at him. "There's just a lot going on."

"I know."

"I missed you. God, I fucking missed you."

"I know, baby." Tig repeated, feeling her relax against him. The alteration in her body language meant his tactic of touch rather than talk was already working. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger along the back of her neck in that way she liked, ignoring the too close ridges of her spine. "And I think you should keep the ring."

"You sure?" She asked, even though her fingers had already darted towards her necklace.

"Yeah." He held up his right hand, showing off his newest piece of jewelry. Square instead of round, silver instead of gold, a proud cardinal etched onto the metal. She smiled when she saw it, a real smile, teeth and gums and even a little laugh. "Remember when we took that ride to Tucson on your twentieth birthday?"

Mattie snorted. "I never did get the blood out of those jeans."

Christ. Eight years later and he was still hearing about those jeans- although, if Mattie were any other girl, it'd likely be her brain and not her clothing she tried to bleach after what he'd put her through. "Yeah, well, I still go to that silversmith we found down there. He hooks me up with a custom piece every now and then."

"That was a good trip." She paused, smirking, "Aside from… you know. The other shit that happened."

"Things were good then." Tig rested his chin against the crown of her head. "I know you don't wanna talk about what's going on. I get it, baby, but you gotta remember-"

Mattie cut him off. "No, I don't want to talk about it. It's complicated and it's a whole bunch of shit piled on top of itself and I don't fucking know how to crawl out from beneath it all. But it's not about you, Tigger. I promise, this time, you're not the reason why I'm like this."

"It's not…" He cleared his throat with the hope guilt wouldn't silence him. "It's not Donna?"

Her forehead crinkled. "No. I mean, I'm still not settled with what happened but it's not sitting on the forefront of my mind or my worries."

"And it's not me going away? I wanted to call you but you know how I am with that shit-"

Another interruption. "No." She sighed into his chest. "And I'm still pissed about you forbidding me to put the house up for bond, jackass."

Oh, so now he was going to hear about that. He was wondering when she'd bring it up. "Couldn't have you out on the street, right?"

"It's my house, last time I chec-"

His turn to jump in. "It's _our_ house."

"It's my name on the deed and I pay the mortgage." Mattie pulled back to tilt her head defiantly at him. Her bad mood had lessened, or at least she was doing a good job of pretending.

He'd hadn't expected this to go so easily. When he saw her crying, he figured she'd shut down and push him away, especially after all the time he'd spent away recently. Even when he was home, the club was taking up most of his time and energy, retaliation more important than fixing his broken relationship. Mattie might deny he had anything to do with her tears, with the shit she was dealing with, but Tig knew better than to believe her. In the past ten years, if somebody hit Mattie's emotional trigger, it was always, _always_ him.

What else- who else- could have her so twisted up? Chibs, but… Tig didn't know. He really doubted she'd spent much time with the Scotsman because he was sure she still blamed herself for what happened. Another thing Mattie would have to work through by herself. Only so many times Tig could assure her and say, no, she had nothing to do with the bomb in the van or Zobelle's hatred but all she could remember was asking Chibs to put the minivan in the newly opened garage bay just before the vehicle exploded. Didn't matter what other causes led to those bombastic effects, not to her. Only time would get her through it.

Tig wasn't unwilling to help. He wasn't. He'd do whatever he could to get his girl in a better headspace, but he wasn't an asshole. He wasn't going to attempt the impossible and that's what any attempt would be. Mattie didn't want or need somebody to try and tell her what to do with all the things inside her head or her heart. She never had. He remembered when she broke up with David Hale- or the other way around, he didn't quite recall and really didn't care- one of the croweaters tried to ease what she saw as teenaged heartbreak. Mattie just told her to fuck off. Her reactions hadn't changed.

"I could help. Just figured if you wanted it you would ask for it." Tig shot back, and he knew he was right. Mattie, asking for cash? Funny. "I didn't think you needed the extra money considering you've got Mr. Big Shot Asshole Shrink by the balls."

"I know."

"And I do contribute. You use my money for groceries and shit."

"I know." She repeated, implying she was done with the finance discussion. He was too, for that matter.

"So, how much shit did Rosen give you when you asked for all our legal crap?"

Mattie rolled her eyes. "You do not wanna know."

"Word of advice?"

"Sure."

"Next time you decide to call somebody an insipid little shit, make sure they can't use it against you."

Too bad his advice couldn't work retroactively. If Tig knew about the shit to come, maybe he wouldn't have been so eager to get out of Stockton.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So was I right about that middle POV? Confusing at first and then it sort of resolves itself by the end. And if you're wondering, it takes place during/between the scene with Mattie and Tig. And while I'm not at all saying the dream scene is some kind of alternative future possibility, I will admit it was fun to try and write from the other side of the fence. Anyway, as always, thank you guys so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	49. Chapter 49

_I'm a confident liar_

_Had my head in the oven so you'd know where I'll be_

_I'll try to be more romantic_

_I want to believe in everything you believe_

_But I was less than amazing_

_Do not know what all the troubles are for_

_Fall asleep in your branches_

_You're the only thing I ever want anymore_

_Conversation 16 – The National_

* * *

><p><em>How did you manage to find a girl like her? <em>

_ A girl like who, Fiona? _

_ Matilda. _

_ What the fuck are you talking about? _

_ Oh, please, Filip. You don't have to worry; your wife has already met your fiancé. _

_ Fiona-_

_ I'll admit I wasn't prepared to see you'd found someone quite so young. How did you manage that, anyway? _

_ Fi-_

_ You're not exactly very pretty, not anymore. With those scars, jaysus, 'Lip. Didn't realize Jimmy did such a number on you._

_ What did you expect after what he did? _

_ I do have to wonder, though, what Jimmy would think of this Matilda. I don't know if he'd be very happy with the choices you're making. _

Fiona's words rang through Chibs' ears still, even though the bitch had left hours ago and crawled back to whatever cage Jimmy kept her in these days. Chibs didn't even know what the fuck she was talking about and he was terrified. Jimmy O wasn't a man to take information lightly, even if it was wrong, and if he heard Chibs had a fiancé- a fictitious fiancé- Christ, he didn't even want to dwell on the possibilities.

Where the fuck was Mattie anyway? What had the daft girl said to Fiona? Chibs reached for the burner on the side table- somebody must've left it for him- and punched in her number again. It was the third time he'd tried to get her and the third time he couldn't get through and he was fucking ready to get out of bed and walk down to her house to ask what the hell she was thinking.

Except he couldn't exactly have expected her to keep her mouth shut and her lies to a minimum because she had absolutely no prior knowledge of Fiona or Kerrianne or Jimmy, and he could only blame himself for that. Goddamn it. He'd already left two messages and didn't bother leaving a third, vehemently tossing the cell back onto the unsteady end table.

Motherfucking women.

Gemma had explained a little when she came by later- she too, wanted to avoid Fiona and her insanity, and luckily had the ability to do it- as much as she knew. Something about ICU visitation only allowing immediate family, a rule that didn't sit well with the MC. Tara could only wield so much power over the regulations and she'd advocated that the Sons just lie when they signed into the ward, which they did, until a nurse confronted Mattie.

"What the hell did you want her to do? She isn't young enough to be your kid and she sure as shit isn't old enough to be your sister, and that bitch nurse knew it. So she said you were engaged. Tig even okayed it." Gemma had snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I told you these secrets were going to get you both into trouble."

Of course. Did secrets ever make life simpler or easier? Did they ever erase problems instead of causing them? Because secrets were always bolstered by lies, which made for weak foundations bound to collapse at the smallest provocation. Even Mattie's strategic, expertly wielded untruths couldn't save either her or Chibs from Fiona's wrath.

Chibs wasn't sure who he was angrier with, his wife or Mattie, or who was more to blame.

Since leaving Ireland- though _leaving_ really wasn't the right term because it implied he had a choice in the matter- he'd only dealt with his old life peripherally. Whatever business transactions the MC had with the IRA were through McKeevy- poor ol' bastard- and Cameron, a few steps removed from Jimmy and his henchmen. California made his ancient Irish world feel deceptively far, far away, as though those people in that place could never harm him ever again. Christ, he was such a fool. A child believing pulling a blanket over his head would keep him safe from the monsters in his closet. Land and sea might separate him from Fiona and Jimmy, but those two were not intimidated by the distance, those same miles which lulled him into complacency.

And Kerrianne? His lovely Kerri, who he'd not seen in- he didn't want to think about how much time had passed since he'd held his little girl in his arms, heard her call out _Da!_ the second he walked into the house, watched her sleep curled up next to the ratty stuffed cat he'd given her for her third birthday. She wasn't even a child anymore. A teenager, nearly a woman, likely looking more and more like her mother every day. Fiona might've betrayed him, but she was always beautiful, even now. Chibs had to give her that. Just that, though, nothing else. Not anymore.

The burner chirped- literally chirped, somebody must've thought it cute to change the text tone- and buzzed violently, catching Chibs off guard. First time all day the damned gadget had received instead of sent.

**sorry was in car dropping off moby tm be by in a few**

The fact she texted instead of called wasn't what threw Chibs- if she had the choice, she always typed instead of spoke when it came to answering him- but the manner of her message. Usually Mattie was complete sentences and full on punctuation coupled with perfect grammar and spelling. He had old messages in his inbox- or at least, he would've, if that phone hadn't gotten blown up.

Still, if she were in the car with Moby now, it didn't explain why she blew off his first two calls.

Chibs fucking hated being stuck in the hospital. And now, with the bullshit of transferring him to Stockton… hadn't his life been threatened enough? Hadn't he earned his stay of execution, surviving both Jimmy's and Zobelle's attacks?

His life was a collection of scars. A half curve on his knee, from falling on a piece of broken glass from one of his father's bottles of whiskey. A long line amongst the ribs on his right side, a reminder to watch for knives when he got into fistfights with other indignant youths. Just a tiny white blip on the tip of his left index finger, where he'd cut himself trying to make dinner for Fiona. The dual marks on his cheeks, a threat made good by the man who'd fucked his wife and stolen his child. And now, finally, not even a scar just yet, a wound held together by staples and all other manner of surgical sorcery, what was sure to be a hideous disfigurement on the back of his head. Only battle men who'll put their own skin on the line, it proclaimed, throbbing.

Chibs, tired of waiting, tired of _thinking_, went for one of the magazines Gemma'd helpfully piled on the seat she'd left tucked against his bed. He wasn't sure where any of them had come from, probably left by visitors during visitations he'd slept through. Most wrinkled and dog-eared, and a couple had articles viciously torn out by some ruthless reader, but he didn't mind.

A knock at the door didn't startle him. Just meant whoever entered wasn't a doctor, nurse or Gemma, and he perked his head upwards.

He knew it was going to be Mattie, but part of him still wasn't ready to see her. Sleeping under heavy pain medication made time pass in a strange, fluid way, and no matter how long it'd been since the moment in the parking lot, he felt like he hadn't been able to truly digest the situation.

Even if Gemma had come and bitched at him because of it.

She quirked a small smile when she walked in, hands tucked into the pockets of her beige trench coat. He instantly missed the shorts and tank tops of summer, but the fall chill had flushed her cheeks a pretty pink and the breeze must've mussed the bun atop her head, a few curls falling loose onto her face.

What a fucking sight for sore eyes.

"Do you mind some company?" She asked quietly, tentatively approaching the bed.

"Not at all," His mouth rebelled before he had a chance to pull back on the pet name, "Lovely."

"Good, good. I've only got a little bit before I have to head to Gemma's." Mattie shook her head ruefully. "Family dinner."

He wasn't sure whether it was a warning or not.

"I see I wasn't invited." Chibs teased, watching her shimmy out of her coat. She didn't sit immediately in the seat left behind by Gemma, first dragging it to the other side of the bed, so it faced towards the door. Sometimes, it was really fucking hard to forget that her father had been a hitman.

"Trust me, this is one you want to miss out on. Everybody's pissed at everybody for one reason or another." She sucked in a deep breath. "Gem thinks that good food will bring good company, but I'm pretty sure this is a lost cause."

"Just keep your head down."

"I'm gonna try." Contrary to his advice, Mattie perked her head up, her gaze brushing over him. "How're you feeling?"

Her hazel eyes were, like always, unreadable. Soft but wary, neither wide nor narrowed, the green in her irises blazing while the golden brown smoldered. Her placid expression didn't provide much help either, but the sharp forward angle of her shoulders contradicted the relaxation in her folded hands. Despite it all, Chibs didn't have enough clues to gauge Mattie's mood, not when he was so out of practice. His expectations weren't high, though.

He'd never seen her angry. Had no idea what it'd look like if she was furious.

"Not great." He replied.

"Your head or… other things?"

Chibs decided to be honest. "My head fucking hurts, but I've got meds for that. The other things, well, you know how it is. They don't go away as easy."

Matt nodded. "Yeah."

The too simple response threw him a little. Chibs gave her an easy opening into whatever she wanted to talk about- and she obviously wanted to talk, or she wouldn't have risked being late to Gemma's dinner. Hell hath no fury like Gemma when her guests aren't punctual. But Mattie wasn't taking the bait.

Christ. She was known for being quiet, but this kind of silence was loud, ear shattering, heart palpitating. He didn't want to sit on pins and needles. He wasn't going to wait. Life was short, and it'd been proved to him time and time again.

"We both know what's going on and it's bullshit to pretend like you're just here for a social call. Whatever it is you're going to say, say it." He demanded, his voice low, already on edge. God, this wasn't going to be pretty.

"You have a wife." Mattie jumped right in. "And a kid."

"I do."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She kept her tone and cadence even, but her calm expression had melted into suspicion and disappointment.

"I didn't think you needed to know." He purposely dangled that, waiting for Mattie to pounce.

"Maybe I didn't _need_ to know, but I certainly would've _wanted_ to."

"It wasn't important." And before today, it wasn't. Before Mattie's lies got tangled in complicated truths.

"You're married, Chibs. You have a daughter. How can you say that's not important?"

"Telling you about them would've created a lot of other questions that I wouldn't have felt comfortable answering."

Swear to god, the heartbeat monitor was beeping in time to _hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite_. Mattie didn't have to notice the odd staccato rhythm to leap to the same conclusion.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Seriously. You've got to be bullshitting me. Because you treat every time we're together like it's a goddamn interview and you never take no for an answer."

He didn't like the implication. "If I've overstepped my boundaries, you haven't said so."

"No. And maybe I should've."

"Don't forget how I found out about you and Tig. I got bruises from that." Maybe it was a low blow, but it seemed to take some steam out of her defenses.

"I'm still sorry about that." She sighed. "You know I am. But you knew what kind of person Tig was when you walked into the party that night. You knew who you were dealing with. I never met Fiona before. I didn't even know she existed."

"I still wish you didn't."

"Well, I did. And she thinks I'm your goddamn fiancé." Mattie rubbed her temples. "I didn't know who she was when I confirmed the lie. It was an accident. A stupid accident. Should've known better."

His heart flopped and slowed. This was the direction he'd been looking for. Figuring out what was said so he could undo the damage.

"What'd she say to you?"

"Not a lot. Called you a bigamist. Called me a child- well, subtly, but she wasn't being complimentary when she said I was only a touch older than your daughter. Nothing I haven't heard before."

Of course not. Tig's kids were what, nineteen? No older than twenty-one, twenty-two. At least Kerrianne was only sixteen, which meant she was separated from Mattie by more than a decade. Though, Chibs supposed it'd be easy to guess Mattie younger than twenty-eight. Or older, if you knew her like he did. The band of freckles stippled across her nose and cheeks belied her mental maturity.

"She say anything about Jimmy O'Phelan?" Fiona loved to wield him like a weapon against any threats she wanted to measure.

"No, but- I know that name. Why do I know that name?" Her face fell as she put two and two together. "They're IRA, aren't they?"

Mattie's sudden departure from indignant and arrival into despondency meant she'd come to the same conclusion Chibs did: her venomous interaction with Fiona would lead to nothing good. He wasn't sure how Matt knew who Jimmy O was, if she remembered some long ago association from when her father was alive- Jimmy came to the states more often back then, not in an particular position of importance but just another associate watching over shipments and transactions- or she just assumed from what she knew of Chibs' past and Fiona's nationality.

"Yes." He reluctantly replied.

"Shit." She smirked, just for a moment, before lips fell back into a frown. "I called your wife a cunt."

If the situation were different, he might've laughed. "Why?"

"She said it was nice to meet Chibs' child-whore and I said it was nice to finally the crazy Irish cunt in person. I guess I should've reigned that one in a little bit."

Now he was really fighting the chuckle shaking in his chest. "Probably."

"So, tell it to me straight, who is Jimmy O'Phelan and how badly did I fuck up?" She asked, confirming his guess that she only had a vague idea of Jimmy's relationship to the Sons and to himself.

"Jimmy's the street boss for the True IRA. Only answers to the Real IRA council." When she nodded, he continued, "He's Fiona's husband and my daughter's stepfather."

"Christ, Chibs, I'm sorry." Mattie stood suddenly, taking a few strides. "What should we do?"

Chibs hadn't planned on solving this as a _we_. He honestly hadn't thought Mattie would stick it out long enough to want to fix what she'd accidentally jostled. Figured they'd argue, she'd call him a hypocritical asshole- which, he guessed, she kind of did- and she'd go back home to Tig while Chibs scrambled alone. But there she stood, pacing, slowly, one leg crossing in front of the other in a hypnotically sexy way, her jeans tight enough to make him nervous. Good thing Fiona wasn't around to see him staring at Mattie's ass. Or Gemma.

Or, y'know, Tig.

"I guess we could just tell her the truth." Mattie finally said, stopping in place. "Because the further this stupid lie goes, the worse it gets."

"You want to admit that you lied?" Chibs asked dubiously, sure to raise his eyebrows as far as they could go. The single time he'd caught Mattie in a lie- she said couldn't go on a repo because she needed to finish filing credit card charges by closing, when she just didn't want to make Tig mad by spending time with Chibs- she refused to concede, even when he confronted her with the conversation he'd had with Gemma which basically rendered Mattie's lie into bullshit. _Well, maybe I heard it wrong. I thought she said I had to finish them by today. Oh well. There'll be other repos, darlin'_. It'd pissed him off so much he'd hounded her for days but she never changed her story.

"If it means not getting involved on a personal basis with the IRA, yeah, I'll go back on my lie in a heartbeat. I mean, I legitimately didn't know who she was when she walked into the room. Thought she was some administrator checking out the visitor's log or one of the investigators from the county coming out to ask you questions. Probably should've kept the cunt comment to myself, but other than that…" Mattie shrugged.

And outing her lie to Fiona was all well and good but that would take time. Fi wasn't the easiest person to get a hold of and she tended to react instantly, as did Jimmy. If he heard Chibs was involved with another person- if he heard Chibs might be happy- he wouldn't hesitate. Jimmy would hurt, he'd maim, and Chibs was terrified Kerrianne could be in the line of fire. He'd left so his association with Jimmy wouldn't ever negatively affect his daughter. He'd left to save her. He didn't leave so the IRA could wander in and out of his life whenever they goddamn wanted.

"You don't know Fi. It might not be as simple as admitting you're not really my fiancé."

"It isn't. I'm gonna have to tell Tig and that's going to be a goddamn nightmare." Mattie picked her head up, catching his gaze. "After this, he's never going to be okay with the two us spending time together in any capacity."

"He can't-"

"Chibs." The rebuke was hard, the bite of her voice almost surprising. "Do you really think it's a good idea for us to be together- to be _alone_ together after what happened at the diner?"

"You mean what _I_ did at the diner."

"I… I don't know." She glanced at the clock against the far wall, cursing under her breath. Gemma's dinner was fast approaching. "It's even harder because we couldn't deal with it right away. And that's not anybody's fault-"

"Well, I'm pretty sure we can safely blame this," He motioned to the hospital room, "On Zobelle. But circumventing this conversation probably wasn't his first concern when the asshole blew me up."

Mattie turned on her heel, away from him, walking over to the window. The sun had gone down completely, but he could see the red glow of the emergency room lights drifting through the darkened panes.

Silhouetted in crimson, she spoke. "I know it doesn't mean anything and it certainly doesn't change anything, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so insistent about filling the empty garage bay. Should've just let it fucking be but I was trying so hard to act like everything was normal between us, like we were still the same Chibs and Mattie before the kiss."

"We're still the same people."

"Individually. Together, no, we're not."

"We didn't kiss."

"Might as well have."

That cut. Someplace deep he couldn't name, an internal hemorrhage which made him furious and miserable and… He didn't know. Mattie was right. Tig would find out about the bullshit with Fiona and he'd never allow Chibs to have another moment with her. And the decision wouldn't be motivated by Tigger's normal territorial paranoia but concern for Mattie's safety. She wouldn't be involved with Fiona and her wrath if it wasn't for Chibs. She wouldn't be a breath away from the IRA. And maybe, for once, Tig was right to hide Mattie.

"Don't say that." It was too quiet, its meaning too apparent.

Chibs swore he knew better. Really. He did.

"I don't know what to do, Chibs. Like you said before, some problems have easy solutions and others… they just fester until bigger ones come along." She tilted subtly, turning her head over her shoulder, "I used to think this was the easiest relationship I've ever had."

"Until I fucked it up."

"I didn't say that."

"But the implication was pretty fucking obvious." He retorted, almost nastily.

"I could've stopped you. It's pretty hard for me to say I didn't know what you were doing."

He wanted to tell her she could've stopped him if she'd reacted at all. If she hadn't frozen, looking up at him with those hazel eyes, lips parted but not moving, curls ruffled by a warm, early fall breeze. It happened every time he touched her. Every goddamn time. Mattie went blank and quiet but her skin always flushed hot and he didn't know what it fucking meant. Whether it was permission to continue or an order to retreat. If he wasn't such a pussy he'd just ask, but he didn't want the answer, not really, especially since he was pretty sure he already knew what it was.

"Does Tig know?" Chibs could've finished off the question. Didn't, though.

"No. I haven't decided whether to tell him or not."

"But you told Gemma."

Mattie left her spot at the window, sighing loudly as she approached his bed. "She came to talk to you, didn't she? Goddamn it. I'm sorry."

"I don't think I've ever heard I'm sorry leave your mouth as much as it has today." He purposely ignored her. She knew Gemma came by. She had to know Gemma would. The Queen liked to imbed herself in the personal lives of her subjects.

"Maybe I have a lot to apologize for." She countered.

"Guilty conscience?"

Matt grinned. Caught him off guard. "I don't know about that. I think my moral compass is just steadier than usual. It's only a temporary change, though."

"Oh, you're planning on committing some dastardly deeds in the near future?" Chibs teased, feeling a tendril of one of their old, light conversations.

"Yeah. Might hold up a bank when I'm feeling particularly badass, you know how it goes. Watch for the story in the papers."

"They'll never expect pretty little Matilda Cardinal to be the culprit. But don't worry, I'll always keep your secrets safe." Gravity hit him again. "Things between us don't have to be different."

"That's what we said before." She was right and Chibs knew it but he didn't care. "And look what happened."

"I don't fold easy."

"I know. I've watched you play poker." Mattie laughed. "Juice beats you. _Juice_."

"Juice is surprisingly straight-faced."

"He will literally _tell_ you when he's got good cards." She argued playfully, before the smile fell from her lips. "And this isn't as simple as a card game between brothers. This is my complicated life and your complicated life intersecting and there aren't any winners."

Mattie was going to be late. But she didn't put on her coat or throw her purse over her shoulder, just stood there, resolute, next to his bed. She had the freedom to leave and tell him to get over himself, to just accept what she was asking. But she hovered, waiting for Chibs to understand, explaining, backtracking, _joking_- what the fuck was he supposed to think?

But for the sake of making sure Fiona understood there was nothing between them, making sure Kerrianne was safe, he'd go along with Mattie's decision.

"You're right."

Mattie couldn't hide her surprise.

It might've been a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Mattie laid in bed, content with the idea that she'd be awake until the morning. Sleep hadn't exactly been coming easy lately, so she was well prepared for the long, dark hours spent quietly underneath the covers. There was a book hiding somewhere beneath one of the pillows, a dog-eared copy of <em>On the Road <em>she'd borrowed from Jax as a teenager and never returned. Her iPod softly shuffled through _Born to Run_- she'd been in a Bruce Springsteen kick as of late, though lyrics from _Darkness on the Edge of Town_ were what she'd decided to have inked onto her hip a few weeks ago. The remote was on her nightstand but she wasn't in the mood for late night television, which always seemed to be either reruns of old crime shows or infomercials.

She didn't toss and turn. Wasn't her style. Still, languid, splayed out but comfortable. Didn't have to worry about sharing the bed, since after their little discussion Tig stalked back to the club and hadn't returned. Mattie might've done the same in his situation, but it was the words he left her with which really baffled her.

_I think you might want to seriously consider going down to San Diego for a little while. _

She'd replayed it in her head enough times to have the cadence and tone broken down into manageable bites, but the remark still didn't make any sense. He'd made her promise not so long ago to stay in Charming no matter what shit went down, and she'd accepted. Until he mentioned the idea, Mattie honestly hadn't thought about getting out of town. She'd been barely coping, sure, but for once, her instinct wasn't to run away. The little voice in the back of her head told her to settle in and get comfortable, because she was in it for the long haul.

Didn't Tigger realize how miraculous that was? Didn't he see how easy it could've been for Mattie to book a plane ticket _anywhere_ and just leave? Whenever she wanted. No warning. No trail left behind. Starting a new life far away from the old one- even if it would always, always haunt her. But she didn't. She stayed. Dug her in heels and everything.

Mattie was struggling to hold her head above water, but she didn't need to get away from Charming to keep from drowning.

Because Christ, wasn't much more that could go wrong. All the shit with Chibs, from the kiss to the attack to the shit with Fiona to the decision they'd finally come to. No more. They couldn't be friends. They'd tried and failed enough times to show anything but separation- or a romantic relationship they just couldn't have- was impossible. She'd never thought about it before, but attraction was a powerful enough force to render two intelligent adults into complete fools. And she couldn't walk into the club anymore feeling like everyone was looking between Tig, her and Chibs, wondering which lines were crossed by who, quietly speculating when she'd be on the Scotsman's arm instead of the tall, crazy bastard's. Maybe this exchange was happening entirely within her head and none of the Sons really gave a shit, but she'd grown up knowing drama and rumors were a valuable commodity amongst the men. The guys might be gun-toting, motorcycle-riding badasses, but they also gossiped like high school girls in the cafeteria.

The Fiona fiasco… Fuck it. She wasn't going to think about it anymore. If the IRA showed up on her doorstep because she'd lied about something stupid, oh well. Actually, if the IRA had time to take out of their busy schedule in order to deal with a dumb American with a big mouth and absolutely no influence, maybe something was going wrong within their tightly run organization. That's how she rationalized it at least, because if she kept dwelling on her imminent demise she'd never get out of bed and that'd _really _freak Tigger out.

Mattie didn't know why she'd suddenly decided to break down that morning. She was upset with Chibs for lying to her about his wife and child, but it wasn't enough of a catalyst to make her fucking _cry_. Or it could've been the fuel to light the fire. Christ. Tigger being around to see irrational tears streaming down her face- she wasn't a sobber, crying was a silent activity for Matilda Cardinal- made it worse, especially since she'd neglected to tell him just how shitty she'd been feeling lately. And how could she, when he was in prison for three goddamn weeks? He'd specifically told Clay he didn't want to talk to Mattie and she realized he had his reasons but it made her feel so goddamn unwanted and useless and unloved.

Earlier, she'd said Tig wasn't responsible for her collapse, but she hadn't really been telling the truth. Whether she was trying to lie to him or herself was another matter entirely.

Sometimes, they were both so closed off emotionally it made it unbelievably difficult to work through complex personal issues. Neither wanted to put their shit out on the table before the other, risk baring their soul to somebody who simply might not be feeling very sympathetic. Add in all the secret keeping and little white lies and shit… Mattie supposed getting past Donna's death might've been the most monumental tragedy they conquered together and for the life of her, she couldn't remember how they managed to do it.

Yesterday… jeez, what a clusterfuck of epic proportions. She'd been planning to simplify her problems by talking to Chibs- initially, before the Fiona business, when she'd woken up before dawn and decided to go on a head clearing run- but that hadn't worked out. All the arguing and infighting at Gemma's party, brothers screaming at brothers, lines drawn between allies and enemies, proved how broken the Sons really were. They'd hidden it well at the beginning, but not anymore. Watching her uncle and Tig go at each other while Jax and Clay screamed back and forth- thinking about it still made her blood run cold. Gemma might've believed the dinner would bring everyone closer, but it'd done anything but. Getting all that tension into one room hadn't been pretty.

And Luann… Mattie's gut twisted. She'd never been as close to the blonde as she was to Gemma, but the ex-porn star was a big part of her childhood. She and Otto never had kids of their own, so whenever Luann felt maternal she'd dote upon the SAMCRO babies. She gave advice to Jax and Opie on how to get girls without being creepy or cheesy and secretly lent them copies of Caracara's finer works when they got older. Mattie went on trips to the mall, Luann making her try on clothes she'd never wear before they got their nails done. They'd always finish those afternoons with something sweet, ice cream or smoothies, while Luann would scout for any cute boys who happened to pass their way.

Luann was fun, feminine, bubbly. She might not have Gemma's poise or power, but she was important to the club in her own way. The good times ambassador. The entertainer, because whatever came out of her mouth was guaranteed to make you laugh. She had a complicated past but wasn't ashamed of it. Totally devoted to her man.

Mattie would miss her. Another piece of her life pried away without warning.

The danger should scare her. Women attached to the Sons were always in some sort of peril one way or another, but lately Charming was becoming hazardous to the health of the fairer sex. She'd lived through a lot in her time, which was what she'd told Tara the last time they'd spoken about it- they'd been taking baby steps and had lunch once or twice a week- so she wasn't as skittish as sanity would dictate she be.

Hale gave her a pointed look last night, which had not gone unnoticed by Gemma. Since she told her about the almost-kiss in the parking lot- in her head, she simply called it the unfortunate thing that happened- the Queen had found herself a cozy spot in Mattie's affairs. She hadn't known for sure if Gem went to talk to Chibs, but she'd definitely suspected, and it was that reason she wasn't very surprised when he filled her in. And then there were her offers to helm the office while Mattie did errands outside TM- running to the bank to make deposits, picking up groceries at the market until Half-Sack was well enough to make a run to Costco, taking Moby out for an afternoon at the park- all of which made Mattie suspicious. She didn't mind when Gemma stuck her head into her business every once in a while, but filling her in on the Chibs/Mattie drama had accidentally gotten the Queen too involved.

It'd subside eventually, when something else caught her attention.

Well, a girl could hope.

Mattie heard a shuffling by her bedside table, and for a second, thought it was Willow rearranging herself on the floor. The dog usually slept on the bench at the foot of the bed, where she'd wait for Tig to wake up- because it was easier to con Tig into giving up part of his breakfast than it was Mattie. With the man of the house out, the St. Bernard liked to wander around upstairs, looking for the next great nap spot. But Willow was snoring soundly, so Mattie lifted her head to investigate.

Her iPhone was still, but something else was scuttling inside the table. Without trepidation- well, she briefly wondered if some kind of fuzzy, vermin-y creature managed to get itself trapped, but she knew that was stupid before she gave it any real consideration- she pulled out her rarely used burner, not recognizing the number on the screen.

"Hello?" Mattie was a little shocked by how sleepy she sounded.

"Hey, kiddo, it's Ope. Wasn't sure if you'd be awake." The familiar voice would've relaxed her if it'd hadn't been four in the morning. These sort of late night calls rarely worked out well.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep." She swallowed hard, hoping to dispel any fear in her tone. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh," Shit. "Do you think you could swing by the club real quick?"

"Why?"

"Tig's trashed. I think he's worked through a bottle of dad's tequila."

"So? Let him sleep it off in his dorm. He'll be fine by tomorrow." Mattie sighed, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

"Yeah. I would do that, but he's- he's really fucked up, Matt. He won't stop fucking wailing about you leaving Charming and no matter how many times I try to tell him you're not going anywhere, he won't listen."

"What is he on?" Drunk Tigger was usually silent Tigger. Tigger on drugs, well, it depended. Weed made him grin, painkillers made him sleepy, but coke… She hated Tig on coke because it always turned him into an asshole. Or a bigger one, depending on your feelings about the man.

"I don't know for sure, but nothing good. Met some shady motherfucker by the gate a few hours ago, came back lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. Been ranting and raving ever since."

"Okay. Do you want me to take him home?" She asked, already out of bed and reaching into her dresser for a clean pair of jeans.

"Nah. I think if you just show up, it might shut him up." Opie paused, quietly adding. "Tell me you're staying in Charming."

She didn't blame him for being suspicious. "I am. We had an argument, that's all. Plus all the other shit going on, I think it's just got him worked up."

"Good. Because you'd talk to me if you were making a big decision like that, right?"

"Yes." She replied, wrangling a bra on one-handed. "Trust me, he's just high and drunk and delirious."

"Alright. See you in a bit?"

"Yup. I'm almost out the door."

They said goodbye and Mattie tossed a t-shirt over her head, slipping on Tig's spare black sweatshirt for good measure. He always liked it when she wore his clothes and it was brisk enough outside to merit a jacket.

She flicked the heater on the moment she started her Mercedes- the pickup's was busted so she'd been using her neglected Benz lately because it was just too damned cold at night to drive around without it- heading towards Teller-Morrow by instinct. Apparently, not sleeping for a couple days in a row made her more tired than she thought, because she was way too tempted to close her eyes. If it weren't for the bright streetlights and the sobering sight of a cop perched eagle-eyed in one of the parking lots looking for violators, she might not have made it to Teller-Morrow in one piece.

Mattie heard Tig before she saw him, his voice drifting far beyond the closed clubhouse door. Couldn't hear what he was saying exactly, though she made out her name a few times. Taking a deep breath, she headed towards the noise, the distortion transforming into actual words with every step she took.

The other Sons- sans Opie, obviously- must either be passed out or already home, because she couldn't see any of them putting up with Tig's bullshit, especially at half past four.

Ope gave Mattie a grateful look when she hefted the clubhouse door open- as a little girl she had to pull on it with two hands and use all her strength to even get it to budge- crossing the room quickly to stand by her side. He didn't need to point Tig out, not when her man paced back and forth atop the bar top, gesticulating wildly, having an argument with himself. Somehow he managed to duck underneath every hanging light like clockwork, never once knocking his head.

"Jesus Christ." Mattie lamented, leaning into the brotherly arm Opie draped around her shoulder.

"Told you he was fucked up."

"I'd laugh if this weren't so horrifying."

"Hey, he's just lucky Happy isn't around tonight or else the Tacoma Killer would've lived up to his name."

He was right about that one. Happy wasn't one for nonsense when he was trying to get some shuteye- a long time ago, a croweater and Kyle Hobart were being… boisterous, and Happy allegedly held a knife against Hobart's neck while calmly explaining how important sleep was for the body.

Tig jumped down suddenly, his boots hitting the floor so hard Mattie wasn't sure how he stayed on his feet. Taking a few loping steps towards her and Opie, he smiled too broadly, his blue eyes too wide. Not knowing what to expect- Tig on coke was one thing, Tig on coke after he'd indulged in mass amounts of Patron was another- Mattie stood her ground, not minding that Opie tucked her tighter. Maybe it was a copout, but Tig was so unsteady- now she was really wondering how the hell he made it off the bar without landing on his ass- she didn't push away the extra support.

"Hey, Tigger." Mattie offered, keeping her voice warm.

He glanced incredulously at Opie. "She's still here! I don't fucking believe it!"

Tig pulled her away from Ope, taking Mattie snugly within his arms. He was strangely touchy feely, running his thumbs over her cheekbones, tenderly kissing her forehead. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the coke assumption- it accounted for the loud raving but not this bizarre display of affection.

"I told you, man." Opie said, giving Tig a good, hearty thump on his shoulder. "Nothing to worry about."

Tig scoffed, talking as though Mattie wasn't in the same room. "Trust me, if this girl was your responsibility, you'd be fucking petrified."

She heard Opie take a deep breath. He hated to being stuck in the middle of things- probably stemmed from the long, drawn out arguments Piney and Mary used to have when they were still together. Mattie turned back to him, almost expecting to see the stressed-out teenager dodging mines from his parents' divorce. But it was regular, adult Opie standing guard.

"Holler if you need me, okay?" Opie tilted his head towards the dorms. She didn't blame him for wanting to get some sleep after babysitting drunk, high Tigger all night.

"Thank you."

"Any time, baby girl." He replied sincerely, pinching her earlobe softly between his thumb and forefinger- as children, this was how they bid each other goodbye- to prove he bore no ill will.

Tigger waited until Ope disappeared down the hallway before he whispered, "I gave you an easy out."

"You did."

"Should've taken it."

"You wanted me to?" She asked, pulling away from him. The tequila bottle was still on the bar, so she took a practiced swig. Felt good going down.

"I don't know." Tig wandered towards the pool table. "I'd rather lose you to San Diego than to bullets."

It was surprisingly eloquent in his fucked up state. Perhaps a little slurred, but after seeing just how much was missing from the liquor bottle she was just grateful he hadn't blacked out.

Mattie nearly asked if he was afraid before thinking better of it. Tig got mean when he got scared, treated her like shit to make it seem as though he were just in a bad mood even if she knew what was bothering him. Which, she guessed, was partly why she wasn't packing her bags and heading south. Still hated the suggestion she should leave, hated that he couldn't just admit to the fear without acting like an asshole. But Tig wasn't one to accept his feelings, he pushed them away and denied them until they became too much for him to handle- which, if she was honest, wasn't too different from the way she dealt with her own.

"It's going to be fine. We'll talk to Fio-"

He interrupted her easily, not bothering to wait for her to finish her thought. "Y'know, sometimes I think of ways to keep you here, just in case."

"Tigger."

"I tried looking for your birth control."

Mattie crinkled her forehead, asking him what that would've solved before it hit her hard- he'd thought about getting her pregnant to trap her in Charming. Jesus fucking Christ. Wasn't that she didn't want kids, or that she didn't want them with him, but it was a topic which required discussion and deliberation and planning. Especially considering the amount of disrepair the club was in- wasn't exactly the environment to bring a child into. Or, more importantly, the constant ups-and-downs of her relationship with Tig. How would a kid handle Tig stomping out of the house two or three times a week?

"First of all, I have an IUD." She let the fruitlessness of his attempts sink in a second, "Second, I can't fucking believe you'd try something so goddamn sneaky."

"You'd be a good mom. Hell, you already take care of Moby." Tig retorted, not seeing the error of his ways. She'd say the booze and coke was numbing his guilt but she knew that probably wasn't the case.

"Moby goes home to his father at the end of the day-"

"And now that his bitch ex-wife is back in the picture, how long you think his sobriety is going to last?"

"Don't change the subject." Mattie hissed, even though she'd fretted over the same thing. Ever since Crystal's overdose, the woman had been spending a lot of time with Lowell- just Lowell, her disinterest in her son remained about the same- and her inclination to go to 12-step meetings and stick to sobriety was pretty much nil. Mattie just hoped suggestible Lowell wouldn't fall back into old habits.

Did it make her a terrible person if she'd already done some research on obtaining legal guardianship in California over a minor? Just in case, because she wasn't going to watch little Moby get destroyed by his father's demons a second time.

"Listen, I didn't do it."

"You _couldn't_ do it, unless you've somehow become a gynecologist in your spare time." If she weren't exhausted and pissed and miserable, the idea might've made her laugh.

"Yeah, well, you told me about the stupid shit you did and this is me telling you about my own stupid shit." By stupid shit, Mattie assumed he meant lying to Fiona about being her husband's fiancé, which, the more often she heard it, sounded more and more ridiculous. "Sharing is caring."

Okay, the heavy sarcasm of that last statement made her grin. "I plan to fix the stupid shit I did." She said, borrowing his phrasing.

"Good luck. Fiona's a vengeful cunt."

Was Mattie really the one person who didn't know Chibs was married?

"She might be, but she's not going to run me out of Charming." Mattie paused, "And neither are you."

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, before simply saying, "Okay."

It was still dark outside, but the bit of sky visible through a nearby window was beginning to lighten. Dawn would come in an hour or two- Mattie figured she wouldn't be able to get any sleep, but she didn't think staying awake would turn out like _this_.

Actually, though, all the activity made the thought of a soft mattress seem amazing.

"I know you'll be up for a while, but I've got to crash." Mattie took a step towards the dorms and he caught her elbow.

"Wait. What the fuck does that mean?"

"I'm no expert, but last time I did coke it fucked up my whole sleep schedule." She replied without judgment. She'd been in college at the time and a friend of a friend offered her some- wasn't her first use, that'd been with the other SAMCRO babies as a teenager- and she'd accepted. Was right around midterms and she relished the stress relief but not the side effects afterwards.

Tig smirked. "I'm drunk. Not high."

"Opie said you went to the gate before and met someone."

"Yeah, I did. Dog forgot his wallet in the garage and I brought it out to him."

She rolled her eyes. "Why could he possibly need it so late?"

"His grandkid needed formula or something and his daughter's got graveyard shift at St. Thomas." Okay. Mattie knew Leah worked in the laundry at the hospital, depending on her father to watch her son when she was away. Kind of a complicated albeit plausible justification for Tig to come up with if he was truly fucked up.

"You were talking to yourself and pacing on top of the bar." Mattie pointed out, wondering how he'd explain that away.

"I wanted to talk to you. Too drunk to go home without laying my ass out on the pavement. Didn't want to wait until morning, so I guess I… played into it a little bit."

"You're an asshole." Mattie murmured, a little dumbfounded. She probably wouldn't have left the house after their exchange earlier if he'd just been a surly drunk, but Opie's worries had lured her to the clubhouse.

"Yeah. But you love me, so it evens it out."

Mattie shook her head. "I'm going to bed, because this has been a shitty day and I'd just like it to end."

"Sleep tight." He said, "I'll be there in a minute."

She was halfway down the hall when she heard his voice again. He wasn't talking to her though, and that was exactly why she froze.

"Yeah Chibs, I know how fucking early it is-"

He must've walked outside because the clank of the clubhouse door cut off the one-side conversation, leaving her to listen to the loud hammering of her heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay. I know it's been forever since I've updated this. Forever and a half. Two whole forevers! But writer's block hit me really, really hard and then life got in the way a little bit- but I finally worked through the block and have actually been able to write a couple chapters (there's one hulk that clocks in at about twenty MS Word pages) past the point where I was stuck. Plus, inspiration from the new season helped a little. ;) Anyway, I hope you'll read and enjoy and let me know if you do! PS- I totally don't remember which songs I used when at the beginning of the chapters so if I accidentally repeat one, forgive me? I'm a lazy jerk and don't really want to go through and double check. :)**


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